Phantasm
by MarinaEverlasting
Summary: Lady is being haunted by memories she thought she had already forgotten, and as she reminisced her past with him, she wondered if she was becoming crazy. He couldn't be there. She shouldn't be seeing him. He was dead, she knew it, but that was too difficult to believe when he was standing right in front of her. Lady/Vergil. More details inside.
1. Memory Of A Forgotten Dream

A/N: Hey~! Since this has been written at the beginning of the chapter, it must be** important, right? It is.** This fic will revolve around the period of time** before the events of DMC3 (the past, memories), mostly.** There will be** some fragments about the actual timeline Lady is in (post-DMC1), **but those will be very few because almost all of the fic will be about the past, and past will be the timeline where the plot will develop.

**It is rated M for a reason, though, but expect me to be slooooww OTL**

* * *

**Phantasm**

**Chapter 1: Memory Of A Forgotten Dream**

* * *

_"Had enough?"_

_The man before her wasn't human._

_Mary gasped for air through gritted teeth. It was neither light, nor dark. She lay on the cold, wet and filthy ground of an alley whose cement walls were painted in red. Her crumbled, stained sweater didn't do much to prevent the wetness of the falling rain soak her skin and freeze her bones. A small pool of blood coming from the wounds in her arms and legs was forming around her fallen form. The wounds were tender, very recent, and a very notorious contrast with her ivory skin._

_There was panic in her eyes, she felt too much panic, but she wouldn't show it. She wouldn't allow it._

_Isn't hope the last thing you lose?_

_There was also anger, enough to melt ice and overcome the overwhelming sensation of dread that she, deep down, knew she felt._

_She didn't reply. She didn't say anything. Oh, if only looks could kill...If that were so, perhaps she wouldn't be in such a predicament and she would have ended being the one sneering at his foe's crumbled body, and not he._

_It was very unfortunate, then, that this wasn't the case._

_"Your father came to me on his own." He said in that calm monotone voice of his, but she was certain there was a mocking undertone in it. "I do not have anything to do with it, or with you, woman."_

_Since he first contacted with him, that girl had become an irritating nuisance to him._

_Always watching._

_Always following._

_Always interrupting._

_"Liar! You demon made him do all this! You lured him, you changed him into that... that __**thing**__! Because of you! Don't make me fucking laugh!" Her hands trembled so much, too much, as she spat those words, and he noticed._

_Uncertainty. She was uncertain, and she was hoping that what she'd said wasn't a lie._

_Vergil didn't say anything for now, and let the silence drag for a bit longer, only broken by the dull, monotonous sound of the falling rain in the background._

_Finally, he began to chuckle. __Chuckles that soon turned into laughter._

_**He was making fun of **__**her.**_

"… … … _You dare to compare me with those beasts?" Vergil smirked, folded his arms and titled his head, faking ingenuity. His unreadable eyes were locked with hers, unsettling her. Even though he was sneering at her, the emotion didn't quite show in his eyes, and his calm, emotionless behavior (that mask made of stone he wore as a face) only served to anger her even more. "Humans lie all the time. __**Your **__lives are full of lies; Why would I want to fall to that trash's level by doing such a thing? ...But then again, why would you believe me? ...Or rather, if I were lying, what would you do?"_

_He heard her growl, and in a blink of an eye, Mary was able to put herself together (at least, partially) and stand up (albeit with some difficulty). One trembling hand was supported against the wall where she had previously been leaning her back so she didn't lose her balance._

**One, two, three, four...**

_The other hand that wasn't against the wall was still gripping the gun, a gun she had been using since she found him. It was aimed at him and it was being fired at a very fast speed; if this had been a cartoon, the finger that pulled the trigger wouldn't have been visible for the human eye._

_With quick, fluid movements, Vergil dodged all the bullets that were being fired at him as he closed the gap between them. Some of them didn't need to be dodged at all; Mary's accuracy was becoming less precise, almost nonexistent._

_Mary was still firing the weapon, even though the gun now made a 'click' sound whenever it was fired._

_The stubborn girl refused to give up. She stopped shooting (because it was useless, there was no ammo) and glared at the man who was now a few centimeters away from her, to show him she wasn't done yet._

_Vergil raised an eyebrow before she could speak -if she were to do so-. "So the foolish girl still has some energy left within her, after all?"_

_"Don't mock me, son of a bitch!" She snarled._

_With all her might, Mary grabbed a knife she had strapped in her belt and launched at Vergil._

_Or at least she tried._

_Her ankle twisted when she was only a few inches away from Vergil, and there was no way for her not to allow it to happen. As she fell gracelessly, the pain in her ankle became harsher, and it really hurt, and she screamed, closing her eyes, letting herself fall._

_Vergil didn't try to stop her. He just moved away from her, swiftly, and as a natural result, her face kissed the ground as she landed with her elbows. The knife she held slipped from her grasp, and was now far away from her reach, very, very far away. She moaned in a mixture of pain and anger as her wounds oozed even more blood. Her moans, though, sounded much more like the dying mewls of a stray cat. Mary tried to pull herself together and stand up, but her legs didn't want to obey her, the pain in her ankle burned, and her arms trembled too much and couldn't support all her weight._

_She didn't like this. She didn't like the way he looked at her; that face... the look in his eyes, as though he wasn't looking at anyone, as though there wasn't anyone with him. She hated the fact he was so fucking calm. How could he wear the skin of a human when there was no warmth nor pity in his heart? She didn't want to look like this. Not in front of __**him**__. So helpless, so pathetic. Her face was dirtied with mud and blood and her hair was soaked by the rain and God knows what else._

_Vergil shook his head as he averted his eyes from the sniveling mess that Mary had become._

_"Reckless mortal... You still try to defy me even though I'm letting you live?" He shook his head._

_Even though she had a small idea of who he was, she still dared to talk to him like that._

_Vergil was amazed at how endless human stupidity seemed to be._

_"...Despicable..." He spat, closing his eyes._

_"I wonder what would your dearest father say now," she whispered lowly, deadly, __wanting to rip the man before her into a bloody mess but not being completly able to do so __"...you, killing the ones he had once saved, those who hold the same blood your mother holds..." She laughed lightly at the irony and then coughed, blood staining her sweater. "Who is more despicable of both of us?"_

_His lips twisted into something akin to a smile. __Her attempts at hurting him were hilariously useless. He was not human, and he didn't know how to care. Perhaps he did once- but not anymore._

_He stared at her insolent eyes, and if anything, he finds her amusing._

_**Stupid, beautiful girl; what do you care? What do you know?**_

_He knelt in front of her, and the hand that wasn't gripping Yamato took a hold of her hair, raising her head so she could look at him._

_Mary yelped in pain as she felt his fingernails dig into her scalp. The wounds in her legs, arms and face were opening even more, numbing her. The pain of her twisted (or was it broken?) ankle hadn't disappeared yet. If anything, it just hurt even more. _

_A smirk. "You should learn to control that filthy mouth of yours."_

___Her tired but wild mismatched eyes burned with anger as that devil's (there was no point in calling him a man if he wasn't that at all) glowing azure eyes bore into them. _

_Before she could say -or do- anything (reply him with hurtful words and insults, or try to break free from his grasp, maybe break some of his bones in the process), Vergil slammed her head against the ground, and she felt (and heard) the brittle bones of her nose break. Or was it just her imagination? Did it really break or was she just numb? Now she didn't know which part of her body hurt the most. The blood ran freely from her nostrils to her chin. There was also more blood coming from the bridge of her nose (or was it somwhere else? Everything was so messed up). Just by seeing how much blood she was losing, she knew the wounds would become scars. Mary could taste the metallic taste even if she didn't open her mouth._

_She tried to shove him away. No avail. Her eyes were closing against her will, but she tried to fight back and keep them opened._

_"Foolish, isn't it?" He said in mocking sweetness. "The enraged face that seems to say you can harm me, when you can't." Vergil's lip curled. "But y__ou're lucky. Red eyes suit so few."_

_But unworthy for a human._

_A glare and a bloodied spit were her replies, tired of hearing his voice. _

…

_As he cleaned his face with the hand that still gripped Yamato, Vergil grimaced and let go of her hair. Torn between cackling and sneering at her foolishness and damaging Mary's vocal chords to make her stop blurting out those lies **(you made him do this!, humanity is not a weakness!**), Vergil's lips flickered indecisively between a cruel smirk and a grimace of disgust._

_Finally, it settled in a deranged expression of utter repulsiveness. The fact of someone preferring to stick to their weakness and refusing to become stronger (to stop being manipulated) disgusted him so much he closed his eyes, pushing the memories aside, as he always did. There was a time when he thought like that, too, but that was in the past, and now he knows she has entrusted herself to an impossible task. That's what happens when you are oblivious to the truth._

_Or maybe she was just that foolish._

_That girl's mind was filled with lies. He wasn't going to tell her. She wouldn't listen:_

_In this world, pain was the only thing that mattered._

_Pain and power._

_If you were able to inflict pain to others, not let them touch you, then you had power, and power is important._

_Very important._

_And he doesn't even comprehend why there was people who didn't even know that yet. Then again, why should they know?_

_...Inconceivable, to be lectured by a human, to lose control because of only a puny little girl. If she ever noticed this, he would make sure her mismatched eyes would see no more. No. No one had power over him unless he said so. Especially not some overemotional human who can't even stand on her feet._

_Pathetic._

_"Why would someone want to cling to humanity this bad?" The hatred in his eyes was still present, and it made Mary shiver, but his voice was quiet, deadly, when he said it. _

_"Because it's my virtue." She answered brokenly. At this point, the wounded girl didn't really care about who she was talking to._

_Then, at hearing her, even if it was for an instant, something flickered in Vergil's eyes; a small piece of warmth, light, __**something **__that was different from his usual blank stare._

_But it disappeared as fast as it appeared._

_My, my, my._

_He was saying something more. The katana in his hand was glowing ominously, its blade brushing her throat dangerously._

_...It didn't matter much, anyway. Her vision was becoming too blurry, and her head ached too much to even care about the monster before her. She began to feel faint and dizzy, realizing that she had been cut a bit deeper than she should. The pool of blood was becoming larger._

_But maybe, this wasn't the end..._

_Now he was wiser, though. Much more wiser._

_Who knows? Maybe he would __**cure **__her if she proved to be less of a nuisance._

* * *

"...Even after all these years … …Don't you ever get tired...?"

Anyone would have thought she was talking to someone else, but she wasn't. A lot of people find comfort in talking to themselves, and while she didn't know if it would really comfort her or not, it was pleasant to pretend someone -her own reflection- would listen to her.

In the end, they both disappointed someone, didn't they? She, who hates the creatures of the night, the creatures her father wanted to become.

These were her secrets, and only she would know what happened back then, and what happens now. Her problems would be too difficult for an average human to understand. They wouldn't comprehend them, and they wouldn't even know what to say.

Most people would think she was crazy. Trish and even _Dante_ would think so too. _He_ was dead and that was all there was to it.

Dante avoided _his_ name like the plague.

This would be kept to herself and only to herself. Who would believe her, anyway? She didn't even believe herself, so why would they do so?

It didn't matter if she changed her choice of clothing or if she wore lenses. The heels, even if they made her taller, didn't make her feel any good, and the fabric of her white clothes didn't comfort her.

She only needed to look at her reflection in the mirror to be reminded of why.

The scars were still there.

* * *

When night comes, she swears she can hear a voice calling her name. Always.

When she closes her eyes and puts herself to sleep, covering her body with the sheets, she can feel fingertips on both her arms.

When she wakes up she finds an indent left in the blanket.

In the shape of a sitting man.

* * *

_Love me or hate me both are in my favor... if you love me I'll always be in your heart... if you hate me I'll always be in your mind._

**-William Shakespeare.**

* * *

A/N: As we studied about English literature in school, a random thought about William Shakespeare made its way into my mind, and I thought: why don't I write some drama? :3 And... as a result, I had to write this. I tried to respect both the game and the DMC3 manga. Since Lady's tome was never released, I still have some freedom to write her past, and this is my interpretation. When she was at the Temen Ni Gru and Arkham told her Vergil made him do all that, Lady launched at Vergil, not at Dante, and she knew who he was, and she talked to him as though it hadn't been the first time... for someone who likes to ~twist~ stuff to suit her own needs, this was easy to twist, so... I decided to take advantage from that scene so Lady would have met Vergil before the events of DMC3. Vergil is a very clingy bad memory, so to speak. I wanted to try the 'twisted love' formula with them this time. Some character study and how a _relationship _would have bloomed between them in the conditions this fic shows you (past and present). Again, it's difficult for me to imagine Vergil in a lovey-dovey relationship without the fic being an AU. At least, this is not too OOC, right? ;A;


	2. Bad Omen

**A/N: Yay! Here I am~! Hopefully, this won't be a complete fail, right? ;A;**

**Red: **Thank you very much! I'm glad you like this. And here I am~, continuing this little fic! :3

* * *

**Phantasm**

**Chapter 2: Bad Omen**

* * *

Lad had an outstanding ability for finding shitty jobs.

She really had it. It was like some kind of a especial gift.

The most detestable, the most badly-paid, the most annoying and the messiest of jobs, all of them, are handed to him by her. The worst of it all? He can't say no. It wasn't because Lady would get pissed (she would get pissed whether he accepts them or not, just like a time-bomb), but because lady luck liked to fuck with him, and in the end, there was nothing that would assure him he wouldn't hit bankruptcy. Money was always money and her jobs were paid, not for free (albeit badly-paid). It was something.

The pizza deliverers were going to spit in his pizza or do something _worse_ if he didn't pay them, and there was also the fact that it wasn't nice to live without gas or electricity. Or without any of them. He didn't like the idea of living in the streets again, either, and then, there was also Trish, who takes all the good jobs away from him before he can even complain.

That didn't mean he didn't bitch about that, though. Dante is in sever need of an adventure, and Lady's jobs -and Enzo's and Morrison's too- are frustrating. The huntress would say '_then, don't accept them',_ and then he would try to bring her into his territory only to fail and receive harsh remarks and glares with no real animadversion in them.

Today, Dante didn't want to begin an argument with her over her shitty jobs (it was a fact, there was no need for him to argue with her about something they both knew was true -Lady was just in perpetual denial. That was pointless). He had more interesting and important things to do, like, for example, stare at her from his sitting position like a clingy stalker (even though he should move his lazy ass and do some work -namely, the one she had just given to him).

There was something strange about her. It was not paranoia. He knew Lady. There must be something... _off._

She hasn't been her usual self for quite a long time -'long time' if he considered what was normal in her-. He didn't know why.

It unnerved him.

"_Cat got your tongue? What's got you so worked up, babe?"_

When he asked that simple question (adding a wink, of course, expecting her to jump immediately at that and begin a random corny conversation -or try to blow him off with a snarky, harsh comment), she didn't say 'yes', neither she said 'no'. She merely turned her head towards him and returned the stare.

She looked tired.

Her skin was pale (not the milky tone she always had, but _pale_), too pale. Her mismatched eyes were red and glassy and definitely sleep-deprived.

Lady wasn't very talkative, but she wasn't _this_ closed_..._

The little lady was irked. More so than usual.

Not in a good way.

She sighed, not saying anything, and he looked at her dubiously, wondering if it was really her the one before to him.

When had Lady been so... nice? Without saying any snarky comment, without saying anything at all... Uncharacteristic, coming from someone like her.

He snorts.

_Since when has she ever said the truth?_

Ah... the little lady... She's such a bad liar...

"_Ahh, you're so cold. C'mon, you can't hide it from me._" He gave Lady a disarming smirk, pearly white teeth sparkling, as he leant over the desk. "_Care to share?_"

"_No._"

Well, if his charms hadn't worked in the past, it was hopeless and stupid to think they would work now on her. Even so, something must really be bothering her; and it must be bothering her a lot, surely, for her to be this mellow. A normal Lady would have tried to overpower him, at least.

Because contrary to popular belief, Dante is more perceptive than people think he is, and he would figure it out, certainly; why she didn't even wear that smirk she always wore when she saw him, why she didn't bother him, why she didn't get him in stupid bets that would make him lose epic amounts of money, why she didn't argue with him nor insulted him whenever he said her jobs were a fucking shit, or when he refused to accept them or when he teased her, why she didn't bitch at him about all the money he (supposedly) owes her and why she didn't even humor his flirty dialogues.

Everything.

He has noticed that she would try to maintain an icy kind of politeness, uncharacteristic of her, answering Dante's questions in an almost mechanical way- 'yes, no, I'm fine', 'stop acting like a mommy or you will have no ass from all the beating I'll give you', 'of course I've grown taller, I'm wearing heels, Sherlock', 'the job consists in dong this and this', but her tone had been horribly distant, as though she was talking to a stranger.

She had never been this strange.

* * *

_**He is dead.**_

_Lady had heard it from Dante. He told her. Nelo Angelo -his new persona at the time- died. Vanished. Disappeared from this world like smoke._

_She reminded herself of that constantly. Over and over again._

_She was dreaming…it had to be a dream._

_No, not a dream._

_A nightmare._

_He is dead._

_He is dead, he is dead, he is dead..._

_Her wild eyes scanned the area, but there was nothing interesting, nothing she could use to anchor herself to the real world and push the memories aside. Memories that don't want to go away, no matter how many times she tries to dissolve them into nothing but fog._

_**Unreal.**_

"_Aren't you going to give me a welcoming kiss?" The man with the monotone voice muttered, without a smile in his lips, not even a cold one._

_She began to shoot at instinct, rapidly, without second thoughts, relentlessly. The fired bullets were aimed at him, but instead of piercing flesh and bone, they pierced nothing but fog. She could only get small glimpses of him. He was very fast, too fast. Just when she thought she had shot him, he disappeared in blue smoke like a phantom, only to appear at another place, closer to her._

_Closer, and even more closer._

_When he moved, he left a trail of blue behind him. The bullets hit other stuff, but not him -their elusive target-. She could hear glass breaking, car alarms sounding._

_He was making his way towards her, and she kept shooting._

_Useless._

_The bullets don't hit him. They just overpass him, as though he was made of mist and fog rather than flesh and blood. As he shortened the distance between them, she feels her heart beating faster, her pupils dilating and her legs trembling._

_He… he was standing there._

_In front of her._

_He._

_She could not breath, no matter how hard she tried._

_With a shudder, she took a few steps away. Lady's hold on the Uzi became tighter, and it was now pointing at him. Perhaps Kalina Ann would have been more effective, but if she used the huge rocket launcher on the abomination in front of her, she would also die, and she would have conquered nothing._

_What was she supposed to say?_

"_Y-You... whatever you are... …"_

"_For a moment, you thought I was Dante, right? But he wouldn't go as far as to wear these clothes, would he?"_

"_You ain't real!" She snarled and cried at the same time, panic apparent in her voice._

"_But I'm standing before you. Then, what does that make me?"He inched closer, too closer for Lady's liking._

_She pointed the black machine-gun to his forehead._

"_Step back, demon!" She hissed. The gun in her hand trembled._

_He chuckled darkly. "Or what?"_

"_..." Her fingers twitched around the trigger as sweat ran down her forehead to her chin. She gritted her teeth so hard he could practically hear them clink together._

_He scoffed at the lady before him and dared to ghost a finger over her sweaty bangs towards the bridge of her nose. "You won't pull that trigger, Mary. Never." His voice sounded ethereal, like an echo._

_She felt dizzy. For a moment, her vision became blurry, though it was short lived, and she then went back to normal -albeit with some tiredness in her. She feels sick._

_The whole area was riddled with bullets. There was glass on the floor, coming from the windows and storefronts that the bullets broke into tiny pieces._

_The barrel of her gun was still touching a forehead, but it wasn't Vergil's._

_A blonde woman was looking at her with fear, silently pleading mercy. Her lips were parted, forming a small 'o'. They trembled. Her beautiful face was twisted in a pained frown. She was staying still, as in rigor mortis. Like a statue made of marble. Not moving, almost not breathing. The stiletto heels of her shoes were starting to tremble. A miracle they hadn't broke. Her make up was ruining because of her heavy sweating. There was an ugly wound on the woman's left arm -oh, so that's the reason of the pained expression._

_The wound was caused by a stray bullet. The oozing blood stained the pretty green dres and the slightly tanned skin._

_How much time has she been there?_

_Why... didn't Lady see her...?_

_Where was Vergil...?_

_Was he even there in the first place... ... ... ...?_

...

...

_Lady's lips trembled as she pushed the gun away from her forehead. The woman let out a deep, ragged breath of relief and started to run away, run as fast as her legs and heels could allow her. As she ran away from her, she still clutched her bleeding arm._

_The streets where Lady lived were well known because of their constant display of violence. Almost no one dared to wander around there at night. Everyone know demons come out when darkness takes over._

_The blonde with the fake nails would think it twice. Or maybe she would just move and live on another place (Lady would do that, too, but contrary to popular belief, harassing Dante wasn't that profitable and she didn't have that much money). ...Ah, who cared about that?_

_Soon, her legs did the same as her lips; they began to tremble, more and more and more until they just gave up. They couldn't support her weight anymore. As a natural result, she fell on her butt._

_At that time, she didn't care about the loss of dignity, or about the cold floor, a floor that could have been stained with rain, blood, syringes and God knows if it had been stained with bodily fluids and whatnot._

_Was he really... ... ...?_

_Was it real...?_

_Perhaps it was... ..._

_Maybe... ... ... but..._

...

_No._

_Surely._

_Surely, that was just a product of he imagination. She was tired, and she had been under a lot of stress._

_The man who was before couldn't be real._

_**He wasn't real.**_

_She shuddered for a second time, because deep down, she knew she was just trying to comfort herself. She didn't really mean it._

_The scent of blood -of him- is still there, after all._

_Lady thanked God she didn't pull the trigger._

* * *

Just as she stepped inside her apartment, the heavy aura that hovered around the place would begin to work its magic on her.

Even after six month, her head still got dizzy once the door was closed. The place holds too many unpleasant memories of nightmares.

She could smell the odor of demons, of _him._ The stink was overpowering.

Her nose wrinkled. She had to wash off that scent as soon as she could. She can't stand it.

As soon as she left her weapons on the couch and made her way to the bathroom, she felt something pressing on her back.

The weight of the perpetual miasma. Musk and decay. The memories of him, materializing like a hologram, swarming her mind like annoying flies.

Or... is it real...?

Is she imagining things or... ...

"This is not a dream." Came the calm, mellow voice of the cerulean male. Lady could feel the smirk on his lips even when she wasn't looking at him.

The voice is too real, and his figure too clear.

She didn't even flinch. Too used to his usual sporadic entrances by now.

"Get out..." She hisses.

With wide eyes and a Cheshire grin, he asked, "Why?"

She feels an overwhelming force, then. An overwhelming, unknown power that twists her chest and makes her head hurt and throb at the rhythm of a techno song.

She glares at him, disdainfully, amidst the pain and the pounding in her head. She glares at him, and analyzes him, wondering if he was really there, why he was there.

_Why don't you leave?_

_Why now?_

When will he be done with her? What will she be when he is?

He stared back at her.

His eyes were too red, too wide.

His pupils were too small.

His mouth was twisted into an insane grin.

...Yes. There was something -she didn't know what- that had broken that 'demon' from the inside and he probably couldn't control himself properly anymore.

He really was pathetic.

_Never doubt I love you, _indeed. Lady scoffs at the thought.

* * *

Demon blood is very difficult to clean. It's unfortunate that he's covered in it.

Damn Lady. Damn demons. Damn luck. Damn Trish. If only the payment was good... … But that was the problem.

It wasn't.

With Ebony and Ivory still in his hands, Dante makes his way through the abandoned streets. Since the_ Temen-Ni-Gru _was raised on this very place, people avoid this place like the plague. Portals to the underworld appear constantly in random places. With the seal clearly debilitated, there was no one who could prevent the portals from appearing. No one has ever dared to get inside that zone.

This time, a man whose name he couldn't remember -not that it really mattered- has had the honor of having him as a guest. Usually, Dante was used to do solo missions, but this time it was otherwise.

Lady told him his companion would be a veteran hunter, around his late forties, but alive and kicking all the same. Said hunter, having heard about Lady's exploits and fame -or was it infamy?-, came to her to discuss about a certain something that caught his eye, hoping she would be interested in lending him a hand. The man wandered around random places, and never stayed in a city or town more than five days if he didn't see anything with potential, so Lady thought it would be worth hearing.

During one of his _expeditions, _he met with the owner of a distillery, and amidst the conversation, said owner told him he was having a few... inconveniences. It seemed that his machines and whatnot weren't working properly, and some of his bestest creations, along with some furniture, broke without any apparent reason. The superstitious man was afraid there were spirits inside his beloved distillery, but the hunter thought otherwise. When Dante heard the story from Lady's lips, he also thought the same.

So then, the old mercenary suspected that while it wouldn't be a pandemonium, it would surely be a quite entertaining concert of hell. He, being conscious of the cons and pros and his abilities, slightly degraded by the pass of time, asked Lady to participate in the job, as he was sure he would need the help of her young psyche, fast reflexes and vast arsenal of weapons. Lady, however, didn't see herself as a suitable partner for him, and thought the ever so charming Dante would do better. As long as his partner was a young, experienced lad, the man didn't really mind.

...

Maybe she already knew what would happen, and preferred not to waste her time and energy for such a pointless case.

In the end, it was just like Dante thought; the _poltergeist_ case turned into a _carnage_ case, and random demons with different shapes and sizes appeared from ones and twos once they stepped inside and got the owner out of there, until the building seemed it would collapse from all the weight and damages it was receiving.

In the end, neither of them were able to control the misbehaving demons, causing _some_ property damages in the process. Of course, the payment became less good, and to even aggravate Dante's mood, they also had to divide it in two, making it even less money for him.

He was pissed.

What was he going to do with only a thousand dollars? All of his bills are much more expensive than that. With that, he would only be able to pay one of them.

...So, what's better? Live without a roof but with a gas to warm the water of his shower and electricity to receive calls or live without electricity -unable to call or get called- but with a roof and a warm home?

He can't leave the electricity bill unpaid; phone calls are the only way he can get jobs, and he certainly can't let his shop fall into the hands of another.

...Well. It's autumn. At least it's not snowing yet. It wouldn't be so bad to shower with frozen water, then; he was a halfling, he will endure a bit of pain if necessary. He has suffered worse.

Just... great. Motherfucking great.

"Mreow~"

But coming from nowhere, a small sound soon drew him out of his sour mood.

"Eh?"

Dante looked down at the ground, where the soil was stained in blood because of his dripping coat -but that didn't matter now that he has made a new 'friend'.

A white cat was standing before him. There was something laying captive in front of it and its paws were keeping it in place.

The thing was alive. There was blood flying as the cat ripped its flesh free.

The white cat was playing with a moribund raven that could only cry and try to fly away (but that's impossible because its wings are broken and it can't move).

Strangely, Dante found himself unable to look away from the scene. The cat seemed to notice, because the animal left its prey and looked up at Dante with unsettlingly blue intelligent eyes. Somehow, that cat seemed far too clever to be a mere cat at all. There was something… a little 'off' about that animal.

After a few seconds, the feline purred and averted its eyes from the hunter, resuming its previous actions. Dante swore the cat was having fun as it kept toying with the black bird. Then, the hunter made his way to the cat, trying to scare it away with his heavy footsteps. Just like he wanted, his plan worked and the animal curled into a defensive position at first, then hissed at him and started running, leaving its meal to die, slowly.

Sighing, Dante put Ebony and Ivory inside its respective holsters and bent down. With his hands, he picked the bloody bird from the floor. One of its wings had been broken, like he noticed before, and its body was full of wounds -and its feet. The raven didn't have both of them, but only one.

The raven was trembling in his hands.

The bird didn't stand a chance. It was beyond saving.

It probably knew its fate, but refused to die.

Dante wouldn't normally lose his time with such stupid, mushy things. He has places to go, things to do and debt collectors to avoid; trying to keep a conversation with a dumb animal that couldn't talk isn't on the top of his 'priority list'.

Still...

Dante's cerulean irises were strangely cloudy as he surveyed the small, broken bird he cradled in his hands.

It's a bad omen.

* * *

_It's stupid. Very stupid. So stupid he would laugh if he could._

_He can't, however. Or rather, he wouldn't. After all, the insolent brown-haired girl is little more than a kid with a developed body. Just a little girl in the dark trying to play the_valkyrie _role. Laughing at her would be a too sophisticated display of emotion for someone like her._

_...Still, the mundane girl has something unusual in her. Yes, unusual must be the right word. Nothing remarkable or interesting or profitable, but unusual. She isn't far from different from the little humans out there._

_Vergil inhales through his nose, and regrets the moment he did so instantly._

_The metallic, putrid odor of death is lingering, and she is the source of it. His nose wrinkles. He wanted to avert his eyes away from her and put an end to this charade but staring at her was like staring at a car crash; it's horrible, sick, hideous, revolting... but you can't stop looking at it._

_The more terrible it is, the more interesting it becomes and the more harder is to look away. It is the same with the girl who is laying in a heap on the floor, beneath his feet. Mundane clothing, mundane hair, mundane facial features, mundane body. Still..._

_She has the eyes of a demon. Why is that?_

_The blue twin almost felt compelled to roll his eyes. Sometimes Vergil believes that that man thinks he is stupid. Maybe he didn't imagine she would confront him, or find him._

_It's strange for something to escape his attention. Vergil is sure he has seen those eyes before, a lot of times, on a daily basis. ...And he is sure he has seen her before, even if it were a small glimpse of a small girl with dark hair wandering around the mansion wearing a school uniform. Smiling eyes and lips._

_In the mansion, sleeping in a room just like he did, living there along with that other woman._

_Lips twitch in a smirk._

_Of course._

_**You made him do all this!**_

_But it would be a waste to kill such a useful -at the time- human, wouldn't it? Slicing him in half won't be profitable nor fitting for a self-proclaimed demon._

_Not yet._

_That's why he will humor them, both father and child. He will watch their finale and he will smile._

_Humans meant weakness, very easy to break and malleable. Hurting other people isn't necessary evil, though. It's mercy killing._

_A part of him is eager for her intestines to be spilled onto the floor, whilst another part has him is holding his breath, pondering._

_The death in her smells 'softer' than in other humans', though. However, he can't believe that as a fact just like that. After all, it may be the rain washing the stench away._

* * *

_When Mary opens her eyes, she is cold. Her body still feels numb and her head is dizzy._

_She doesn't know where she is. It's some kind of an empty, gray room, that's for sure. There's no furniture, there's no nothing except of her._

_Her back aches for having slept so many hours in the same position, and so did her legs, her hands, her arms... Why did they hurt so much?_

_She tries to move a hand to her left eye and then rub it (her vision is blurry), but she can't._

_She tries again._

_And again._

_And again._

_And again._

_It's futile._

_She doesn't know how much time it took her to realize she was tied, but she knows there's someone with her. She's sure of it._

_She could hear his voice, and he was making his way to her, ever so slowly._

_He almost makes no sound. It's creepy, it's ethereal._

_Otherworldly._

_She still tries to break free from whatever is keeping her tied, even if it's useless._

"_That doesn't quite work, does it?"_

_She raises her head at this, locking her hate-filled eyes with his laughing ones._

_"You're so stupid," He taunted, his angel-like features hiding the monster within."You're just so fucking stupid."_

"_Let me go..." Her voice is barely audible, but it was enough for him to hear, and had enough venom to make her look powerful. Deadly. Anger radiates from her._

_A shame it wasn't going to trick him._

_He laughs. "Why? You came to me on your own, now didn't you?"_

_Mockery and disgust in his voice, lips curling in distaste. The air is thick._

* * *

_Cruelty is, then, one of humanity's oldest pleasures._  
-**Friedrich Nietzsche**

* * *

**A/N: Geez, I almost forgot about quoting one of 'Aurora''s quotes. It was great to read it while I was on my way to write this chapter :3. Oh, and forgive the grammatical errors that this may have; my book is in Spanish, so I had to translate the quote and... ;A;**

On another note,** introduction finished~. We already have seen how things are in the present and it's time to move to the past and see why Lady is acting so... funny, and why she can't help herself from anchoring herself to her past. *sigh* **Hopefully, this isn't very OOC... right? ;A;.** OOC is my worst enemy with this story, especially with Lady's lovely issues.** She, strong-willed, teasy, pissy, a bit closed and moody, it's strange to see her like this, but she's human, and like all human beings, she must have times of weakness... right? ;A;. At least, I managed to write her like that without going too OOC? ;A;. I tried my best, and let's be honest, it doesn't happen many things in this chapter ;A; I will improve that with the next one.

**PS: Don't worry, Dante~! You will have your own concert of hell by the hands of a punk kid~.**


	3. Ties With The Deceased

**Phantasm**

**Chapter 3: Ties With The Deceased**

* * *

It was already half past five in the afternoon.

He notices that there was something... odd, out of place.

This was the seventh time it has happened. Too many times to be a coincidence.

_There's something wrong here. _

_Something's not working._

Vergil likes to be in control, and he certainly doesn't like things not working as the should be.

He, enveloped in an aura of self-pride, looks up from his book and gives Arkham a soulless stare.

"Arkham." The cerulean male calls the enigmatic man's attention who seemed to be very busy in his own little world, reading that book he never ever let go.

The smallest of noises would be heard in the huge, silent library; even the persistent buzzing of a fly hovering around would be annoying and loud. Vergil's voice is made of ice, calm yet powerful to be heard.

The man clad in black, with a cryptic smile, leaves aside the book in his hands and looks up at the half-devil. Vergil then realized that there was a very bad looking, painful third-degree burn in the left side of his face. He doesn't remember it being there before, and Vergil's memory is practically photographic.

"Yes?" With a cordial tone of voice, Arkham acknowledges his call, not seeming to notice the dark aura that made its way in the slayer's eyes.

Vergil narrowed his eyes. "Where's that woman?"

"Woman?"

"Surely, she hasn't been swallowed by the earth."

Brown eyes, brown hair. A woman in her late thirties. Occasionally, Vergil saw her when he wandered around the mansion. Other times, however, she came and knocked at the door when she knew Arkham was there with him (or sometimes when he wasn't, and she knew), offering tea and cookies for him and his albino guest. Vergil sometimes has wondered if she was aware of the events playing in her home or if she was as stupid as to be oblivious to them or ignore them. At least she had known he was there. Alice, on the other hand, was more elusive, and doesn't allow anyone to see her.

Damn witch. Damn rabbit.

Vergil couldn't understand what that human had seen in someone as Arkham. It wasn't a thought that took away his sleep, but it was still a big mystery.

Usually, she would come and check on them around this time, and he hasn't seen her today, neither yesterday or the day before yesterday and so on... And if he thinks about it a bit harder, Vergil can remember that, besides her, there was also a short girl with the same hair color as her, dressed in a school girl uniform. No more older than sixteen.

That same girl with insolent eyes he saw yesterday. It's curious, how she isn't here anymore, just like her mother. Why such a coincidence?

He usually only heard her talk (their rooms weren't really that far from each other), but never really seen her; perhaps he had caught a glimpse of her once -or twice-, on those very few moments when he was out from the library or from his own room. He supposes she didn't stay in the mansion for much time, only at midday and night, fortunately for Arkham, who -surely- didn't want Vergil to know about her, or her knowing about him. Vergil already knew about his bride, and that was more than enough, or else, his plans would whither away and crumble like a flower blown by strong winds -Vergil knows as much.

What Arkham didn't know, though, was that Vergil already knew about her existence, remembering her from those small glimpses... He never said anything or asked him about it. Who she was didn't concern him, anyway; not back then and not even now.

And furthermore, Vergil realized that the daughter in the mansion and the girl who tried to attack him were the same person but in different clothing (same eyes as _him_. The eyes of a demon. Vergil's not a fool), and Arkham doesn't have to know about that, either.

For now.

Don't they say ignorance is bliss?

This could be fun.

"She's gone."

"Gone, I see."

Perhaps Vergil's lips would have parted in a small smirk at his reply, knowing fully well what had happened, but they didn't. He, however, kept his gaze impassive, a nonchalant expression on his face made of marble.

Vergil didn't want to waste a smirk on a person like Arkham.

He didn't deserve it, the display of emotion.

Vergil went back to his book, which had been left forgotten for a short period of time. "...To a trip to the Styx river did she go, perhaps?"

And that was the last thing he said before focusing all his concentration on the words in the pages of the book. Old, yellow, worn, like the state of the library holding it captive. Vergil doesn't need words. An answer is not needed; he already knows it, what happened.

_Sometimes, a human can be seduced by evil._

That was when Arkham, unlike Vergil, smirks as a sinister, ominous laugh echoes through the library.

* * *

_She doesn't know how much time it took her to realize she was tied, but she knows there's someone with her. She's sure of it._

_She could hear his voice, and he was making his way to her, ever so slowly. _

_He almost makes no sound. Creepy, not human at all._

_She still tries to break free from whatever is keeping her tied, even if it's useless._

"_That doesn't quite work, does it?"_

_She raises her head at this, locking her hate-filled eyes with his laughing ones._

_"You're so stupid," __He taunted, his angel-like features hiding the monster within.__"You're just so fucking stupid."_

"_Let me go..." Her voice is barely audible, but it was enough for him to hear, and had enough venom to make her look powerful. Deadly. Anger radiates from her._

_A shame it wasn't going to trick him. _

_He was a wise cat._

_She was a cornered mouse. _

_He laughs. "Why? You came to me on your own, now didn't you?"_

_Mockery and disgust in his voice, lips curling in distaste. The air is thick._

* * *

_I'm dead. There was a demon there, wearing the skin of a human, and there was a sharp katana brushing my neck. There are cuts and bruises everywhere. Blood everywhere, oozing out of me. _

She opens her eyes, breath erratic, nervous, agitated. She's covered in sweat and dried blood in some parts of her anatomy where she had been injured. She needs a shower.

The girl remembered. In her dreams she was clinging to something (_or was it 'someone'?) _warm as she fell unconscious.

_Urgh, where am I now?_

Mary looked around her.

She, inside of a small room with pristine white walls with no decorations (plain and simple), was laying on a bed, which was positioned vertically in front of a door connecting the bedroom with, surely, the living room. Covered in green sheets, she notices that most of her clothing had been removed (her sweater, to be more precise), along with her guns (fortunately, the source of her money was still inside the pocket of her denim shorts). To her right, there was a small end-table with a lamp and a glass of water, and to her left, there was a fairly big window that lead to the emergency staircase and, consequently, outside.

The small bed made a horrible, creaking sound when she started to move in an attempt at trying to sit in a comfy position. Her unhealed wounds, along with her sore muscles, protest at that. The crusts open and bleed. They looked like they were about to get infected. Not a good sign.

She hisses and shuts her eyes closed. The sunlight bothers her eyes, blinds her. The pounding headache gets worse with it.

She wants to get up and lower all the window binds in the room, but her body is numb and unable to move at the moment, especially if it isn't necessary for her integrity. Without any kind of impulse of danger, her body thinks it's useless to move if it's not needed; like an expending machine with no coins to make it work.

…

… … …

… …_But where am I?_

And speaking of danger, the wears of Mary's mind begin to work, and a thought filled with panic finally made its way to her mind.

Mary suddenly realized that she shouldn't have been wasting her time checking out the view -a view that she wasn't familiar with. That was a bad sign, a very bad one. She didn't know where she was, nor did she have any idea how she got there. The last thing she remembered was laying face-down in an alley that smelled like garbage and urine, at the verge of dying of blood loss. How did she get here? Where was _here_, anyway? And who owned this place? Why did they bring her here? What did they wanted from her?

_And my weapons?_

Her weapons.

Where are they? Are they still there? Does she still have ammo left?

Her weapons, the ones she used against him yesterday night, are they with her? Were they left abandoned in the gloomy alleyway, painted in red?

Mary stood up, determined to go and look for them... if they really were there with her...

Shit. Holy shit.

When her feet touched the ground, supporting all the weight of her body on them, Mary felt white-hot pain in her ankle. She looked down towards her now-bare feet only to notice that she had a horrid purple welt around the ankle of her right foot, which was swollen like a golf ball.

The sight of it was enough to make you avert your eyes, disgusted, and feel pain just by looking at it. Imagine how it would feel like trying to force the broken foot to support 58 kilos of weight.

No, no, no, _no_.

She sat on the bed again, causing another series of cries from it, pain and discomfort apparent in her dirty face. It was then when aside from the creaking of the bed and whatnot (birds chirping, cars being driven nearby...), she heard something louder. Louder but distant. For every passing second, that sound became more and more notorious, getting closer to her location.

Footsteps?

Of course, there was someone in there, aside from her; the owner, obviously.

Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck._

She knows about her situation. Whoever might dragged her there, she can't trust them; in such a predicament and in such a frail state, she can be easily extorted by them, and she would be in no position to protest, because if someone called the cops, the one who will lose will be she. She wasn't sure about where she was getting into, but it was definitely not _good _for a sixteen year old brat wandering with identification documents that weren't hers (and some other things that weren't hers, either) and guns. She doesn't want to spend her time in a correctional (or in jail) and... … there was something sure: she wasn't going back to _that_ den of demons with _him_. No. _**Never.**_

If Mary wanted to escape, she wouldn't have been able to; the door in front of her lead to, surely, the living room, where the much desired exit should be, and that person must be there, too, waiting. Whoever had taken her here had her trapped like a mouse in a cage.

The sound stopped for a moment and was interrupted by a painful screech caused by an old door being opened.

The door of that very room.

Mary was left immobile like a marble statue.

"Welcome to the world of living, sleeping beauty~." There was a woman coming from the door. Her hazel eyes laughed at the wounded girl when they fell upon her sitting form. "I was starting to think yeh might be dead, sleepin' the day away, juss' like that."

Instinctively, Mary hastily stood up and looked with her eyes for something she could use to defend herself from the strange woman who kept her there. She didn't have much time to think and, truth be told, there was nothing interesting in that bedroom at first glance; no knives, no guns beneath the pillows... nothing at all. ...And her clothes... Damn. The gun she had hidden inside the large pockets of her sweater had been removed, just like the knife in the belt strapped to her leg. She had nothing of her own.

At the lack of fire-arms and bladed weapons (and if there were, she unfortunately couldn't find them in time), Mary had to settle with a lamp resting on an end-table next to the bed. Quickly, she grabbed it with both her hands and aimed it to the woman with a feral scowl.

"Oh my, after all I've done! Aren't cha a feisty dogie there now!" The woman said with humor laced in her words, amused that the little one was actually trying to threaten her with a _lamp._

"Stand back if you don't want to get bitten!" She snarled.

Shrugging a little, the woman kind of ignored the teenager and got herself closer to her. In response, the young one gritted her teeth and prepared herself to lunge at her and smash her head in with the lamp -as ridiculous it may look, this could be a lifesaver.

Mary learned the hard way she couldn't trust in anyone, not even her own shadow. The woman could look inviting, but she won't trick her so easily.

"You!" Mary meant to sound menacing, but looked and sounded more like a scared animal in front of a dangerous hunter with a rifle. "You, don't get any closer! Who the fuck are you?! What do you want?!"

The woman blinked and said, calm and fluently; "Me? I'm the one who dragged your sorry ass outta there, of course."

Mary didn't like the choice of words.

It was then when, with quick yet inelegant movements due to her weakened condition, the thin girl brought the lamp closer to the woman's head with the intention of knocking her out. And the woman, ever so fickle, dodged the advance like a matador would do when in front of an enraged bull, the lamp missing her by a hair's breadth.

Mary, with her heavily damaged ankle, staggered like a ballerina until her form collided against a white wall. The lamp shattered when it made contact with the concrete. The half-broken lamp, much to her displeasure, was now even more useless -but the small piece that remained on her hand was sharper, though.

"Fuck it, bitch; calm yer tits, 'kay? Lovely me, with no money whatsoever, offered you a bed for _free_. Don't 'cha think I deserve some love?"

The girl didn't answer and maintained her glare.

"Lookie here, my dear; do I look like a threat to ya?"

Mary turns around and narrows her eyes as she looks at the woman before her more carefully.

There was a sly grin tugging at her lips. Her arms were raised as a sign of defeat. She was tall, around six feet tall, maybe. Her brown hair, tied in a ponytail, looked shorter than it really was. It must hurt her scalp, to have her hair tied like that, especially when it was as disheveled as hers -disheveled to the point it was painful to imagine running a comb through it, as though she had just woken up from a deep slumber. The tanned skin of her strong arms, product of -Mary assumes- years of training, were covered by lots of scars; some of them were thin, some of them were long, a few of them almost invisible, and the rest of them deep and ugly. Could it be that she also has more of those on her legs, underneath of those denim jeans?

Even if her face didn't look really healthy (red eyes, with dark circles under them and a tired yet cheery, mocking expression on her face that seemed to be the final product of a handful of sleepless nights), Mary couldn't deny that if necessary, the brown-haired woman would put a fight, given her tough complexion, if she were to initiate it by trying to escape, and she could just as well have those strong arms closing around her neck...

Mary's muscles relax. Even if it's just a bit. While that wasn't enough for her to drop her guard, it was enough for her to lower her half-shattered 'weapon'.

"See? That's better. Aren't you tired of standin' in only one foot, anyway?"

The nameless-girl (at the time) before the older woman was looking at her with mistrust, but she was right to be mistrustful. After all, she's inside the apartment of someone she didn't know and talking with someone she didn't know. The girl had guns, and she knows they had been fired more than once. Someone like that can't trust someone that easily, but hey, people of her _kind_ developed a sixth sense to distinguish 'crazy bitch' from 'harmless woman' and 'foe' from 'friend'.

"Why should I trust you...?"

It seems she hasn't developed that sixth sense yet, huh?

"Oh!" The woman with the ponytail lay a finger on her lips, faking she was actually considering her answer; "let's see... because I dragged you outta that alley, I ignored the fact you were a bloody mess, I didn't call the fucking cops, I healed your wounds -well, sorta-, I took both your weapons aaaaaaaand I was so nice as to ignore you tried to kill me with a _lamp_. How does that sound?"

"… … …"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The young lad was scowling moodily and didn't look friendly. That's not a good sign. My, is she difficult!

The silence was becoming awkward, so much the older woman felt wary about sighing, as if it would turn the atmosphere of the room even more bleak -but she did, anyway.

"Why does it always hafta end like this?" She mumbled to herself dryly.

"And why would you do that, huh?" The lean school-girl spat as she eyed the door out of the room next to her.

"Because I'm a sunshine?"

"... ..." Mary snorted, scowling with annoyance as she shook her head, not saying a thing.

"...Fine, I just thought you were a hunter in trouble, covered in blood and such." She groaned in response to the daggers coming from her eyes, slowly making her way to her again, with tentative steps, and Mary would have stepped back if it weren't for the fact she just couldn't do so anymore, as her back was pressed against the wall. The tall woman didn't look bothered and she certainly didn't mind about invading other people's personal space. "Damn it, I was only tryin' to be a good Samaritan; ya would be tied to the bed right now if I-" If she wanted to finish whatever she was going to say...

That didn't matter much.

Forcefully, Mary shoved her away from her sight, kicking her in the shins with her good foot once she got too close for her liking and grabbed a hold of the doorknob of the door next to her -albeit shakily, feet trembling, pulsating with sharp pain as she never thought she would feel.

For the older woman's surprise, the back-haired spitfire was trying to limp her way to the exit.

The other blinked with a grimace of pain, hissing, once she recovered from the forceful kick in the shins before the teen could get away. "Owowowowow~ow! Hold on a sec, hold on a sec, sis! Where will ya' go, hm?"

Mary stopped her movements to reply, but didn't even bother about giving her a side-glance. "None of your business."

"With what money?" She expertly ignored the dull stare from the other female, along with the not-so-nice tone of voice of her previous statement and the murderous glare. "Hotels are expensive and isn't bothersome to go 'round there tryin' to cover big guns? And speaking of which, I tell ya, ammo doesn't fall from the sky, and you look like you need loads of 'em. In the end, daddy and mommy's money will run out. I tell ya, I tell ya~."

"Shut it." She turned her head to her, without opening the door just yet. The feral growl coming from the teen's throat was... quite enviable. Oh, if only she could mimic it; that would safe her from so many flies... "So what of it?"

She wasn't going to trick Mary. No, Mary wasn't going to be tricked twice. Appearances are deceiving, and she might be playing the part of a kindly host- but underneath her small smiles, she was laughing at her.

Mocking her.

At least, that was what it looked like, and... it really pissed her off, made her blood boil, the emotion being more than apparent in her features. She was just trying to make the teenager lose guard, but to no avail; she won't let her.

"Darling, you were the one holding big, scary guns. I should be the one getting my panties in a knot while fearing cha' might go ballistic and blow my head off." Before the other could say something -if she were to do so, anyway-, she continued, speaking rapidly; "Young kids these days think everyone is their enemy! My, how bad."

No reply.

"Did you get lost then? Should I call daddy and mommy for ya? Don't worry, deary, I won't tell them nothing about your lil' adventure~. No one will judge you; I'm sure they will forgive you and forget about this in less than a month, even though you'll have to find a good excuse as to why you have such nice babes with ya." She laughed in such a way it made Mary want to rip the flesh off of her face and cut her tongue. "They won't like that much."

"..." The scowl in her face became even more annoyed whilst a vein twitched in her forehead.

Disregarding one of the golden rules of her profession, the tall beauty (if you ignored the scars, the ugly purple welts, the nose and her puffy, small eyes) kept taunting and teasing the petite fire demon, who by the look of her cheeks, was about to explode sooner or later. A shame the huntress didn't seem to notice it.

A devil hunter needs to be fast and have quick reflexes if they don't want to die. Apparently, the hunter before Mary wasn't very fast -or rather, she seemed to have lost her guard- since she didn't see the punch coming. Too bad. The brunette's fist makes contact with the tanned woman's jaw, emitting a painful, dull sound that was soon replaced by an anguished cry of pain and surprise as the woman was forced to reel back because of the force.

Almost falling down, but in the end, she managed to keep her balance.

"Fuck off! Let me go!" She half-snarls and half-yells. "You know nothing!"

Then, there was moaning, and then there was blood; her eyes were shut tight as she spit on the ground, blood coming out from her mouth like a broken faucet.

When the pain subsided -four, five seconds after-, she looked up to her aggressor as a raw emotion made its way to her system -rage, but not enough to mimic the girl's.

So she kept the glare to herself, knowing (deep down) that she should have left her alone -trying to speak to an enraged girl with obvious problems with the _law and order_ -she scoffs at that, mentally- among other probelms wouldn't be good, even more so if said girl didn't even want to acknowledge she was just trying to help.

Not losing a second, a hand pressed on the side of her jaw that had been punched -so painful, blood still oozing out of it, staining her white t-shirt-, she gives a silent goodbye to the glaring brunette as she makes her way out there.

The door makes another horrible sound when it's opened -creaking, as though it may break-, and then another loud -very loud- sound was emitted by it when the woman closed it behind her.

She waits, and waits, and waits...

…

When she's gone, Mary gives up (for now) and limps her way to the bed again, and lets herself fall onto it. Again, it cries when it's forced to support her weight.

Exhausted and angry, she runs her hands through her hair and pulls at it. Her eyes close shut as she grits her teeth. He is still out there, whilst she can't even move at all, with no weapons -_she_ took them away from her. She can't get out from the room and retrieve them, either.

The feeling of uselessness is overwhelming, again.

A lot of thoughts swarmed her mind, none of them very pleasant. Her hands fist in her hair, almost tugging at it.

The demon.

He is with him.

She is sure she has seen him.

He works for him, doesn't him?

Mary's fists closed until her knuckles turned white.

She must get out and find that demon again.

* * *

Impatient, angered, pained and heavily frustrated, the woman growls and makes her way to the kitchen with a first-aid kit. Behind her, there was a crimson path of blood, running in rivulets from the right side of her jaw like a fountain. As a natural result, half her face -the right side of it, of course- was stained in so much blood that her white t-shirt was now crimson.

"Go and take her home, conscience said. Save her from dyin' of blood loss, conscience said. It'll be fun, conscience said. You'll feel better, conscience said..." She mumbled in a stupid, mocking girly tone, her voice an octave higher -or she tried, because vocalizing was becoming quite the problem.

It seemed that trying to mess with her and joke around to downplay the issue wasn't the best of ideas. She made a quick, mental note about that for next time -if there was a next time, of course. _The bipolar brat doesn't slap; she __**punches**__. Hard. That bitch._

_That's the last time I'm gonna help someone. Yup._

Laying the first-aid kit on the kitchen table once she finally made it there, she took a seat on one of the chairs around it and grabbed some bandages, a gauze and a bottle of ethanol from inside the pristine-white medicine chest. Quickly, she used the gauze to clean all the blood that still leaked from her mouth.

…

It's strange. As she waited for the blood to stop oozing out, she thought about the filthy little shit she had inside _her_ bedroom -needless to say she didn't even show a bit of respect or gratitude towards the one who saved her _life_.

The little shit seemed distraught when being mentioned about her parents, both her guns -whether they were hers or stolen from someone else mattered very little; she was fucked either way- had been fired (she doesn't know if it was against 'someone' or 'something', but again, it doesn't matter much since she's pretty much screwed), and she looked so ashen-white, so flat... … sick. She didn't look like she had been eating properly, right? And the stuff inside her wallet, and the wounds… … … No, something wasn't right there. Everything in her reeks of contradiction.

Was she also a lost child...?

The woman is left thinking, thousands of possibilities playing out in her mind.

* * *

_Mary isn't alone in her dreams -nightmares, really._

_There's the man. That man. That man with those strange eyes -so much like her own- with soft smiles and kindness that would soon be shattered , oh-so-easily, and Mary isn't herself, not her current self, but a young girl with middle-length hair, black as ebony. _

"_The world was born in darkness, but even in such a world, there was a small shard of light, and the world was divided in two; the world of darkness was were demons dwelled, and the world of light was were humans dwelled. Together, both worlds coexisted since immemorial times... However, the king of the world of darkness asked himself: what's so bad in piece together two worlds that had been one once? And so, the world of light began to be devoured by darkness. Since then, darkness never stopped from consuming light, until the light rebelled against them; but of course, humans couldn't resist the demons' power, and then, just when humans' lives were going to be eradicated, **he** appeared"_

"_Again?" The girl in the bed, her form covered by the sheets, whined as her wide eyes stared with curiosity at her beloved father, who sat on the corner of her bed -and maybe, with those pleading eyes of hers, if he saw them, this time he would tell her a different story. Maybe Alice in wonderland? Or the wonderful wizard of Oz? What about little red riding hood? Mom read her those books, and she liked them more than that one. So much more._

_That one was... so dull. So monotone. So unlike the others... the first five times can be fun and Mary could say it was an interesting tale, but after twenty -or was it less?- times, it becomes a torture. _

_But no, that... that didn't seem to be happening any time soon, but she kept trying, anyway. Her father loved that fairytale so much... he looked more like a child -more than her daughter, and seemed to enjoy it even more than she did. But if he kept telling her that legend again and again, she will end up by memorizing it -just like him-, and enough was enough. Variety, that's what she wants. _

_Sparda's legend; that was what it was. A legend, no more believable than a child's choppy drawing._

_The little girl -and the teenager- never believed in such a story. It was only a fairytale her father would almost always read for her so she could catch sleep._

_Mary trusted him once. Loved him. Cared about him. He was the man of her eyes, her world._

_Mary trusted that man with cruel, mismatched eyes and insane smiles and the love for Sparda's legend- the everlasting power of the demon who saved mankind from its demise. But that was a lie, a lie. _

_But Mary had never realized until it was far too late and her innocence was slipping away._

_She trusted the man with the blood in his face, in his clothes, in his elbows, with half of his face burned._

* * *

…

"Tonight the full moon is scarlet."

Amidst midnight, agile legs tried to get to the other side of the opened window, but they faltered and almost made the girl fall to her demise. It was a good thing that the foot that kept her balance wasn't the twisted one and was still touching the floor of that creeper's flat.

The teenager, alarmed and frightened at the sudden loss of control over her balance, turned her head towards the door, where it came the voice. Leaning against it, there she was. That woman.

"You know what that means? Demons are noisier than usual under the effects of a full moon, and when its power mingles with the sun's, they become crazy. It's foolish of people to go out on a night like this."

No answer, again; but at least, she seemed to be more mellow than when she woke up, which was a good sign. This time she will listen to her more than a minute without going into an homicidal rampage -hopefully-. The hazel-eyed has to think her words wisely this time. No more punches for today, thank you very much.

"You have no parents, don't you?" The mocking in her eyes had gone, and now the young one could only see a boring, dull brown blur in them.

...Just in case, though, the woman prepares herself to dodge another punch.

"No, I don't." Mary finally replied after the sepulchral interlude of silence, sharp and icy. "I don't have parents, _miss Sunshine_."

_As expected_, the other thought, but she didn't sigh, nor groan or say apologizing, honey-coated words as a response to the girl's confession. She kept on staring at her, thinking that that may explain the hateful behavior and some other _things_, and that she should control her big mouth more often. Incidentally, that also explains why the woman in the ID didn't look like the girl in front of her (but that unknown woman had photos of said petite girl, meaning she was a relative of hers -who? She was too young to be a grandma, and mothers usually kept photos of their children inside their wallets...), but that didn't quite explain why she wasn't with a legal tutor (an aunt, or an uncle), or in a foster family, and why she, being a minor, had weapons on her possession (for what?), along with a wallet that wasn't hers (why did she need the money?), and why no one has caught her yet (or started to look for her), and why that woman's bank card was still active if she is supposed to be _underground._

And why would she get herself into such a mess? Why did she run away? Why the weapons? Why the wounds?

Didn't she have any relatives? Why aren't they looking for her, if she had ran away?

That short girl... That short girl is strange, but the huntress is no detective, and it's not in her right to open that can of worms, so she won't.

"A minor with no parents, who skips school, stole money, ran away I presume, and wields weapons with no license. You're fucked up. It won't take them much time to find out and catch you or start looking out for you if you keep wandering around aimlessly."

"Just..." Her voice trailed off, showing she didn't want to talk at all as she even ignored the other woman just gossiped the wallet she held inside the pocket of her blood-stained jeans. The nightmare -or memory- really had weakened her, hadn't it? "... Just go... …"

"You'll kick me out if I don't wanna? … …I'm just givin' ya advise."

Mary stood back and put the leg out from the window, slowly. Once she was fully standing on the floor with both her feet, she limped her way to the bed and sat on it for the third time. It was a good thing the window was next to it and wasn't very far a way -just three or four steps, at least.

...Thinking about the brown-haired woman's words, she agrees that that was actually true. It won't take long for her school to make a fuss about her absence, and then her friends, and then the neighborhood. And then... what would happen? They will try to contact with _him _(but that was the least of her concerns, because she knew he won't say anything, unless he wants his crime to be uncovered, right), and her mother's money won't last forever, and she knows she can't go around using her credit card so often. There's also the possibility of being seen by someone who knows her (a friend, a classmate, _someone_).

She bit her lower lip in worry and frustration. Someday, too, the neighborhood will get suspicious as to why they never saw mother and daughter again, and they will want to know what happened... or if he ever leaves the mansion, there won't be no one there, and they will ask themselves 'where is that lovely family who lived here?'. Her personal stuff is still there, though, including her own identification documents and such. And school, her classmates, her friends...

For a moment, Mary became pale.

"You're awful young," she noted, wiping sweat from the back of her neck. "What are you doin' this for? Girl like you should be in college. Most of us are working to get out of this hellhole," she went on, folding her arms. "You ain't got dreams or anything?"

"..."

Mary lets the silence drag a little longer before speaking again and gracing her with a reply, this time clear and determined;

"I'm fulfilling my destiny."

* * *

Despite Arkham's vast knowledge about dark arts, gloomy exterior and strange eyes, he is no demon.

Not compared to Vergil.

He could try all he wanted, but to no avail.

Vergil leans in his seat and stops writing for a moment to glance out of the opened window in front of him, pondering.

Sitting in a cushioned chair, in front of an ornamental desk with a pencil in his hand, Vergil's mind is filled with superfluous things, amused by his own thoughts. The scarlet moon's light is not enough to illuminate Vergil's writings, but that wasn't really a problem, was it? He doesn't need any artificial light to be able to see what he was writing and what was already written. He could see perfectly fine even if he didn't have the red light coming from outside.

His chamber, just like the desk and the interior and exterior of the mansion, was the dream of every person with OCD; it was spacious, really spacious to be just a mere bedroom. The walls were of a sepia color and were good-kept, without any cracks or signs of having ever had leaks. The same could be said of the wooden floor, which seemed to have absorbed all the hate from this morning, as the temperature within there was pleasant even with the heater off. The passage of time had not deteriorated it at all. Everything was in its rightful place, thoroughly cleaned and tidy.

Behind Vergil, there was a king sized bed, and even though it wasn't too fancy or too embellished as opposed to the other furniture in the bedroom, it had a comfortable mattress. The bed's pristine-white linen were half uncovered, ready for when Vergil decided that he had enough. Next to it, there was a small, tidy bathroom.

He had been right all along.

That woman was dead. The woman who just weeks ago took care of the household, went upstairs every now and then to check how their guest was, who used to invite friends of hers to chat -it was _hard_ not to hear them-, who allowed her child to bring friends to the mansion despite how noisy they were -again, it was _hard_ not to hear them- and remained oblivious to the plans of her oh-so-dear husband, was now nothing more than a rotting corpse.

Ready to fall into oblivion, she was not even able to even say goodbye, soul tainted. How sad, yet funny; she died at the hands of the person she loved the most. Vergil feels like scoffing at her.

And he does, as a snort can be heard.

Love is really for fools.

_Don't trust anyone; not even your own shadow._

That girl, she who still carries an air of innocence despite her looks, wasn't distressed because his father made an alliance with a devil who would kill thousands of little humans in his wake. She certainly wasn't enraged because his father kicked her and her mother away to become a demon.

She was, in fact, distraught because her daddy dearest not only kicked her away from his life, but also killed her mother as a sacrifice, not allowing her to at least leave like she did. A vulgar sacrifice to become a being he didn't deserve to be. He _betrayed_ her, destroyed her family, her life. She didn't have anyone anymore, and she wouldn't be safe anywhere anymore.

Will she cry and crumble if he pushes her to her limits?

Will that worthless self-proclaimed demon mourn the death of his beloved daughter if he were to slash her before his very eyes?

_How does it feel like to be betrayed by your most loved one?_

Lost in that thought, brows furrowed and blue eyes strangely cloudy, Vergil exerts so much force on the wooden pencil in his hand that he breaks it in half.

* * *

_The way forward is sometimes the way back._

**-The Labyrinth**

* * *

**A/N: Because Vergil has emotions beneath all his mental issues and Lady is young and inexperienced in this fic and whilst she isn't trusting anyone, she needs some help, and she will eventually come at terms with it. I mean, she might have been agile, fast and all, but I'm sure that the Lady from the manga, the one without the grumpy expression and with the school-girl uniform mustn't have known much about firearms and fighting demons (note that Lady didn't believe the stories her father used to tell her when she was little). **So yep, I'm trying to explain how she learned to use guns and move properly and prepare herself for what was going to come. Lady's abilities in DMC3 require lots of work and training, so much training. One doesn't born knowing everything about everything. Hopefully, it won't be a problem right? ;A; Even Dante was inexperienced when he was young~. Is it bad for me to think that a minor with limited money (that she would spend on food, places to stay and ammunition), who has never fought demons before (save from the psycho in blue), would have it difficult to learn these things? Surely, Lady didn't stay at the mansion once her mother was killed, since, y'know, that's a den of demons and she knew she wouldn't be safe... I'm not making much sense, right? ;A;. But I think this is the most plausible scenario for Lady.** Do you think otherwise? ;A; Was it very OOC? Y'know, a review would be nice! ;A; I'm not really asking much. **

**Next chapter will continue with Lady's denial and Vergil's finding of the other seals~. And Alice will also make an appearance with a new _friend_~. Now, if you all excuse me, I'm out: I'm gonna go to cry in a corner at Vergil's death at the hands of Ninja Theory D: God, why, whyyyyy?! ;A; *cry* Vergil, what have they done to you? ;A;**


	4. Oblivious

******A/N: IMPORTANT **note at **the bottom!** It's important, really. ******A LOT. **Much appreciated if it's ******read ****BEFORE reading the posted chapte, especially the parts in bold. Also, a summary for chapter 5 at the bottom. **Because I'm a sunshine (lol no).

* * *

******Phantasm**

******Chapter 4: Oblivious**

* * *

Usually, mornings aren't anyone's cup of tea; at all. That's one of the reasons that yawns and grumbles are the usual background sounds of all Mondays. And Tuesdays. And Wednesdays... and so on -though Mary's memory wasn¡t photographic, so she couldn't remember which day was it when these events happened... not that it mattered much. The day wasn't the important part of this memory.

The young girl, eyes still glued with sleep, didn't even have the strength to yawn as she did her routine ritual in the bathroom, so the background sound, that time, was only the dull sound of the water dripping out the faucet as she made sure she washed her teeth properly without having to remain on the bathroom for an eternity and without staining the white blouse of her school uniform.

Every time she looks at herself in the mirror, Mary has the urge of snorting at her image. Is it really _that _bad to wear _normal _clothes when going to school? The uniform doesn't make things any better -ask those perverted men that stared at her and her friends.

She shakes her head, not saying anything -because, you see, it's a bit uncomfortable to talk with a toothbrush inside your mouth.

A minute after, Mary withdraws the toothbrush from her mouth and spits out the remains of toothpaste and, with the help of the dripping water, she cleans the bathroom sink with her hand and gets herself out once she believes it's decent so her mother could save face.

With a small sigh, she'd resumed her way to the living room downstairs, and... …

"... … … … …?"

Huh.

It'd been early in the morning, which meant that the sun wasn't even up at that time, meaning that the corridors she was walking through were still bathed in darkness.

For a moment, for a small, fleeting instant that might consist in only a very few seconds, Mary had the certainty of having seen... a blue trail among the darkness? In such a dark place, glowing things are striking -and eerie, and she had been sure she wasn't imagining things.

Though the moment had been so short lived it could had been considered as an optical illusion, she'd thought otherwise.

Then, the student, with tentative steps as though she'd been scared to awake or frighten someone -but it was stupid and nonsensical, because dad and mom were already awake-, kept on walking towards the spot where she saw that blue trail. She walked forward through the corridor until she reached the end. At first, Mary had been supposed to use the stairs at her left to go downstairs, to the kitchen, and have the breakfast and get ready, but instead she prefered to center all her attention to the right, where the corridor prolonged without any more bifurcations. At the end of the lonely passage, there was only a single room.

A dead end.

With even more carefulness than before,she made her way over there and, once in front of the door, she stopped and stood still. Even her breathing had stopped as she'd thought about what she was going to do.

What had that thing been...? A trail that she could only see in a fraction of a second.

Is it... … Where is it?

Mary rested a hand on the door and her heart beat even faster.

She had been sure about what she saw, that it was real, that someone was in there, but she hadn't remembered having guests in the mansion, or any of her parents mentioning that someone was going to stay for a few days or weeks.

She was sweating and she'd supposed she should have been feeling , but she was cold.

…

She'd scowled at that.

She really couldn't be scared, right? She didn't have any proof that, in fact, there was something inside the room. Only children were afraid of inanimate things. Monsters, demons, ghosts; they don't exist, so her heart shouldn't be beating so fast, and she shouldn't be sweating the way she is -sweating is a form the human body has to expel heat, but she was cold.

_This is really stupid. Carol would be laughing so hard at this..._

She had thought 'I will get into the room and there will be nothing. And I will be a complete moron.'

One of her hands went to get a hold on the door's knob and then she twisted it. If life was a movie, the world around her would have stopped in a halt and an ominous song would have been heard. The fact is that, sadly, real life had been more anti-climatic and she could only hear the sound of her breath and the sound of the door being slowly opened. Nothing more than the relentless sound of her heart.

"_Mary_?"

And seconds after, not even having opened the door completely or having been able to see what lay beyond, she heard the voice and there was a yelp and the door that had been half-opened was closed shut in less than a second.

Mary's heart had almost stopped from beating and she could only stand back from the door, realizing that maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to know what was inside the cage.

A hand. A hand was touching her right shoulder as if it wanted to draw her attention -and it wanted to do that. The cold touch startled her and made her body react in a way she didn't like.

"_Dammit dad, you scared me._" She'd said, scowling as she turned around hastily, still a bit shaken.

The stoic form of her father stood before her, his right hand resting on her right shoulder. He was looking at her straight in the eyes, intently.

"_Why are you still here?_"

He hadn't looked very pleased with her and she hadn't been sure why.

"_Your mother is waiting for you._"

…

…

It seemed that he was displeased by the fact she was still upstairs.

Oh.

_Oh, damn._

_Damn._

When her heart and her breathing had, more or less, evened out, she had managed to say:

"_It's already half past seven?_"

...Because she _really _should had been downstairs and have breakfast and get ready. Or else, she would be late!

Saying nothing more, Mary walked past her father and, while she went towards the stairs as fast as she could, she self-insulted herself, thinking about how stupid she was in fact if imaginary ghosts frightened her.

_Yeah... I must be imagining things... _She mumbled to herself.

She was far too old to be believing in ghosts.

Everybody knew they were imaginary characters from fairy-tales.

* * *

"**Holy Shiiiiiiiiit!**"

And then, just like that, Mary's sleep was interrupted with an ear-piercing scream coming from somewhere in the apartment -she's not sure where, though.

… …No, well, maybe it wasn't _that _loud and she was just exaggerating, perhaps it was more like a somewhat loud hiss, but considering the fact that Mary had been peacefully sleeping, almost every kind of noise -loud or not- would be shrill for her.

"Ah, fuck!"

After that, there were even more curses and cries but less sonorous than the earlier.

You learn something new everyday. Mary did so: it seemed that that woman wasn't a quiet creature. At all. Her voice came from afar, but was loud enough for the young brunette to hear her.

Opening her eyes with the feeling someone had thrown her cold water to the face, she started to wake up and her body had the impulse of going to wherever the scream came from. Still, before she could even get up -her muscles still ache, though-, she heard footsteps -heavy footsteps, to be more precise,which told her that the owner of those footsteps was, surely, running or walking fast (she could even hear her cursing as she ran) towards her area, and the door opened and the head of that woman poke out the door before Mary could even get up.

"Oh, hiya~" She said as a greeting, smiling sheepishly with slightly ragged breath. "Are 'cha awake?"

_No duh._

Mary narrowed her eyes, blinked a few times so she could clean her eyes from the sleep and then frowned. "I heard screaming. Of course I'm awake."

"I'm sure ya did." She laughed nervously. "My bad."

…

For a few seconds that seemed to be more like minutes, there was an awkward interlude of silence between them. The brown-haired hunter scratched the back of her neck and yawned, but didn't say anything.

Mary was starting to get bothered of her peering eyes, and was scowling moodily again.

_Aren't we off to a great start? _The elder though to herself dryly when she noticed the ugly expression on the younger girl.

"Not sure if I wanna know, but..."

"It was nothing." The huntress interrupted as she opened the door more and more until Mary could see her completely standing before her, and not only her head and that mess she dared to call 'hair'. "But it wasn't a bad thing, me being loud. At least it was useful to wake you up without me being hit with a lamp in the head~."

Mary, with red eyes because of sleep-deprivation, turned her head to her left and glances out the window as a way to distract herself and (hopefully) come back to her senses. She groans and lets herself fall onto the mattress of the bed as a sign of defeat. Not really working. "The sun's not even up."

She's tired. Tired like she'd never been before.

"Ya're gonna be restin' for a month, deary, so I can't let you get comfy, so ta speak. The early bird gets the worm, ya? Y'must adapt your biological clock so ya won't suffer when getting up at insufferable hours in the mornin'.There are always random outbreaks that need to be taken care of."

"Get comfy?"

"My, sweetie, didn't you want to become one of the next generation of hunters? If not, tell me why did you have those babes with ya.

"..."

"No, no; on second thoughts, that wouldn't be necessary. ...But the fact that I'm not gonna let you go that easily still stands, unless ya want to become a cripple for the rest of your life or die. And that would be so unfortunate... I'm sure you don't want that, ya?"

"..."

She laughed heartily. "It'll be kinda difficult for ya to do some proper huntin', ya know. See? I'm such a good'un that I'm willing to be your teacher." She sighed dreamily. "Maybe I should buy myself a pretty black suit and a shape-shifter pet~."

"No." She said adamantly. "Don't do that. I don't need anyone to teach me."

"Ya don't, huh? Then go ahead and leave and keep on stayin' the rest of your life in degrading motels, let the room clerk look at your ass when ya aren't lookin', and let the roaches fest over your sleepin' form. Ya don't even know how to _hunt._ How're you gonna earn money, lovely midget?"

"... …" Mary scowled.

_Ha! I won!_

"...They aren't that bad." She tried to defend herself, even though Mary knew that what the older woman said was pretty much true and it was pointless the fact of lying. And yes, spending her nights (and days) on different motels was tiring and definitely a waste of money -even if they aren't really expensive, which explains the quality of the service, but Mary isn't in any position of wasting her precious income (or rather, her mother's).

Oh joy.

The huntress didn't expect that little girl to go to better motels than the ones she had described before.

"Sure, sure, darling."

And that was the end. After her wry comment about the girl's previous statement, she said nothing more, and the stubborn black-haired brat didn't think she needed to say anything more. She didn't think she wanted to, anyway.

_Well, this is awkward. She really doesn't give anything away..._

Mary sighs, cutting into the silence that made its way again, and thinks (or at least tries to) about all that had happened and what would happen in the near future while silently waiting for the other woman to leave her.

Everything, and how screwed she can become, and... … Urgh.

"... …I 'ave some crutches here from other times I'd needed them. Try to make yourself decent, wake up and get the sleep off your eyes while I try to attend some _business_, hm? I'mma call a doctor right now so breakfast and stuff will have to wait."

"What?"

"Don't look at me with that face. Your foot doesn't look pretty and I'm afraid 'cha cannot go to a hospital if ya don't wanna get in trouble, and _he'sgood, _so take it or leave it, but I'm your best option. Just trust me, 'kay?"

Mary was silent and when she didn't grace her with a reply, the woman snorted and looked at her with bored eyes.

"Ya're welcome." She mumbled sourly.

She turned around to leave, and before she could disappear from the girl's sight, the brunette noticed something clinging to her hair, something brown, kind of big, and oval-shaped... it strangely resembled a comb...

A... comb?

Mary scowled, trying to suppress the smile forming in her lips -but the snort managed to make its way out of her throat, though, so it became a useless effort.

It was definitely a comb.

* * *

"'Ere, 'ere, and fuckin' _watch it_ with the property damage. I'm payin' for that."

In the end, the tanned woman found the forgotten crutches -left behind inside some dusty closet- and gave them to the injured girl, guiding her through her apartment. She hated to admit it, but Mary had forgotten how to use them. It's been a long time since the last time she had to use one of those; if she's right, she only twisted her ankle once, when she was a five-year-old brat. Fortunately, the intrusive huntress' home didn't have much furniture, so she didn't have to worry much about falling down.

"You already know I'm not blind, right? I can manage."

"Is it bad of me to wanna give 'cha a _tour_~? Just tryin' to show ya 'round. Thank me, for my consideration."

"That's pointless."

"Practical, deary, _practical_. Soon, you'll see it my way~."

This woman... The brunette hates how she takes things for granted, how she thinks she's right though she knows nothing. It's annoying. And consequently, the youngster rolls her eyes.

After some struggling when trying to go through the door towards the living room and dodging furniture such as the TV and the couch that were in the middle of the room, both females arrived to their destination. It was a simple room, with nothing more aside from the aforementioned furniture.

Mary had tried to sit on the couch, but the huntress didn't let her and, instead, brought her to a very small kitchen that was placed behind it. The kitchen didn't have a door; it was an extension of the living room, separated by a table. Just like the living room, it wasn't the definition of 'big', but it wasn't a claustrophobic place. Next to the kitchen, at the left, there was the exit door from the flat.

So, being cautious that her soon-to-be (fingers crossed, of course) protegé didn't hit her foot with any of the chairs around said table separating both rooms, the woman motioned her to sit. And she did.

Swiftly yet carefully, she grabbed a hold of the nearest chair and pulled it to her so the girl could have enough space as to be able to sit. Once her job was done, she just left her by herself and went towards the couch to sit -but not after grabbing the remote control of the TV that was laying on the coffee table before it.

As the woman sat and turned the TV on, Mary distracted herself by looking at the table intently -no, no, not really the table, but the thing that was on top of it, just right in front of her.

She hears her own stomach grumble and does her best at covering it.

And to do so, Mary turned around to look at the huntress with a scowl and a glare, and spoke in a grumble once she got in a more or less comfy position on a chair around said table:

"...How are you so sure?"

"..."

The woman kept her eyes locked with the young girl's ones. After some seconds of thinking about her reply, she cleared her throat and said:

"I've met plenty of people like ya, and they eventually came to terms with it. Being mad with everyone won't solve your petty problems. Trust me on that one, cutie."

Mary didn't feel like proving the other woman wrong. It would be a waste of energy and she didn't want to misspend her time in such a pointless thing. That huntress just wouldn't give anything away.

Sensing the arrival of an awkward silence, the aforementioned woman spoke again, trying to ease the mood:

"...Oh, and if ya haven't noticed yet, that's for ya." She pointed at the plate laying on top of the table.

Tiredly, the brunette eyes the food before her. Even though her stomach growled in anticipation, she masked said weakness the best she could and retorted in her usual sharp tone of voice:

"You're not my mother."

"People who work in hotels aren't other people's mamas, but they tidy up their rooms, clean their messes, make breakfast for them... And we're all perfectly fine with it, ya?"

"..."

Saying nothing, Mary turns her head away from the tanned woman and reluctantly starts to eat the toasts that were on her plate.

And as much as she hates to admit it, they weren't _that _bad, though anything would taste good to her now.

* * *

"_That sounds creepy..."_

"_It sure does."_

_If one were to be able to see the scene were this dialogue took place, they would see a spacious yet very untidy bedroom. In the middle, there was a bed big enough for a person to sleep on -or two if they are able to remain very close to each other through all the night. At its right, a big closet with a chair full of dirty clothes next to it; at its left, __there was just a wall -no windows, no nothing; finally, there was a small (and untidy, too) desk with books and whatnot, placed at random: a lamp, a pencil-case, a wallet, CDs..._

_But the room wasn't the protagonist of the spectacle, but two girls._

_In the middle of the bedroom surrounded by opened books and papers with lots of things written in them, a brunette with mismatched eyes and a blonde with curly hair were laying pleasantly, amused by each other's company._

"_Have you told that to them?" The blond said in a chuckle._

"_You think I would? They would think I'm imagining things; or laugh, they would laugh as you're doing right now."_

_When saying that, Mary's friend couldn't refrain herself from laughing, mocking her friend._

"_But you have to admit it's funny."_

_So Mary thought about telling her what happened on that morning. Maybe, just maybe, her friend would help her, distracting her or something... And it more or less worked._

_She was distracting her paranoid self, yes. At the cost of her dignity._

_Mary considered blowing her friend off with a snarky comment, but decided not to, in the end. Instead, she just closed her yes and sighed._

"_It's not funny; it's humiliating. Can you imagine the face I had when my father came to bring me downstairs? And me staring at that door like a moron, sweating in fear? I feel __**stupid**__."_

_The other girl nodded, making a quiet sound of approval:_

"_... ...Living in such a creepy place, I don't blame you, though. How can you live 'ere, such a huge, ominous place? Sorry to break it to ya, but your home sweet home feels like a time-travelling machine... and not in a good way. I mean, it's like stepping inside a whole different era from the past, y'know."_

"_I was certain I saw a thing there, more than once. This is really messed up."_

"_Y'know what's messed up? This place. And your head, too. That's what I'm telling ya; maybe this is cursed or somethin'. Oh, and there are spiders, too. You should clean up." At the end of the sentence, she made a grimace as to give it more emphasis._

_Mary's eyes snapped opened._

"_Don't be a moron." She said as she stared unblinkingly at the ceiling._

_The curly-haired girl made a startled noise, as if she had discovered something very important._

"_Maybe it's true what they say, that demons are real and stuff." But the way she said it didn't match with the words spoken. The girl might had been a terrible liar._

_The brunette sighed, rolled her eyes and folded her arms._

"_... …Aren't you supposed to be comforting me or helping me?"_

_Her friend faked a pout._

"_**You**__ are the one who claims seeing shit. So I'm not __**the**__ moron; you asked, and I'm really tryin' to help. Or do you still believe that you saw that 'cause you hit your head while sleeping?"_

"_With my bad luck? Seems plausible."_

"_**Bad luck**__? You bitch, your personal poltergeist s`not a hideous monster covered in gore!" The girl joked as she hit Mary on the shoulder. "Then I would like to have your bad luck, too."_

_In response, Mary rolled her eyes. Again._

"_I'm not sure if that's really what I saw. I mean, it was kinda blurry."_

"_Whatever. But I wouldn't mind to have a a poltergeist such as yours. Come to think of it, you wouldn't have to hide him from your parents because he would be able to disappear in thin air whenever he pleases." She joked again. "It would come in handy."_

_She, the one with the mismatched eyes, snorted. "You're bad in the head. I'm __**actually**__ worried. ...Well, sorta."_

"_Yep. I am. Like you. But at least I don't believe in __**demons**__. Or in __**monsters**__. Or __**ghosts**__."_

_With a startled noise of her own -obviously fake-, the brunette says indignantly:_

"_That's so harsh."_

"_-You said it, not me, remember," her friend countered, ignoring her. "But I do appreciate your imagination. Your description was pretty lively, I could practically see it playin' in my mind, but you know, drinkin' at morning is bad for your health. Don't do that, Mary. Think about your poor, lovely friend. She's worried you might keep on seeing __**things**__ and go insane."_

_She scowled._

"_...I wasn't drunk. I'm not like you."_

_The blond laughed heartily._

"_Are you implying that I'm a drunkard, then~?"_

"_Oh, of course not...!" The shorter student said ironically. "Why would I? Say such a thing from a woman who claimed to be perfectly fine to go home by her own even though she was just wearing her underwear.."_

"_That only happened once."_

_Now it was Mary's turn to laugh._

"_And what about that time when you started to throw up and cry over your ex on your birthday? Admit it, you're intolerant to alcohol."_

_"..."_

"_Yeah."_

_The blonde huffed and made a dignified pose, eyes closed._

"_...Details, details." She weaved a hand dismissively. Then, she opened her blue eyes to look at her friend; "But don't turn the conversation on me, woman; we were talkin' about you and your mumbo-jumbo shit."_

"_Oh right, how could I forget."_

"_Hey, it was you the first who told me. And you were laughing your ass off, remember."_

_Mary smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand._

"_It's pathetic. That's why."_

"_I agree." She laughed -and she had done so so many times neither of them could fix a number on it. "You sure you didn't eat anything inedible at night?"_

"_Cut that out." As indignant she tried her voice to be, the mismatched-eyed girl couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from twitching up. "It's not even funny anymore."_

"_And you tried to get inside once you made it 'ere."_

"_Yep."_

"_And?"_

"_Nothing'."_

"_..."_

"_..."_

"_...I have some friends, clad in white, that might help you." Her laughter was immediate._

_With a force the blonde girl didn't think her friend had, Mary nudged her hard in the arm. That was also immediate._

"_Ooo-Ouch... Hey," she grimaced. "Really wanna know what I think about all your crazy shit and your man-like-thingy in all honesty? You should totally get laid. Asap. That's the root of your petty-."_

_Before she could finish, Mary had already nudged again in the arm, harder._

_The blonde doubled over and tried to regain some strength before starting a fight with her friend while she kept on nagging at her that she should really let the __**tension**__ out of her system._

_It would help her to shake off those worries and the crazy shit, the blonde said, and she seemed to be really serious about it._

* * *

Soon, something that should be a paradise for a starving girl became something more like a routine. A boring routine. A bothersome routine.

Grab the toast. Bite it. Chew. Swallow. repeat. Grab the toast. Bite it. Chew. Swallow. repeat.

And when there was nothing left on her plate and her hunger was satisfied, she just stared unblinkingly at the table until she lost the track of time and started daydreaming. Perhaps that would cheer her up? To dwell on happy thoughts?

…

Very far from it.

_It didn't help at all._

At least I don't believe in demons... She couldn't help but think about those words and snort at the irony. Who would have thought, indeed.

"Why the sulky face, cutie?"

Blinking, Mary woke up from her haze and turned her head around to see the devil huntress sitting with her face towards her, hugging the headrest of the couch where she was sitting at the moment, some crappy TV program she didn't care about being emitted on the TV behind her.

Mary replied curtly, as usual ever since she met that woman:

"I was thinking."

The huntress thought about asking her what was running through her pretty mind, but decided not to, mainly because she wouldn't be answered. And the fact that she didn't want to upset her much was also there. Instead of getting worried about her angst or whatever that teenager was thinking about (it was hard to tell, that girl's facial structure was _weird_ and whenever she looked at her, she always had the impression that the teenager was pissed off or scowling), she turned around again and sighed.

"He's late."

Mary didn't feel like replying her, but after a brief moment of thinking, she decided to be a _bit_ more polite and try to keep the conversation going as a way to thank her for the food and the bed:

"They usually are, aren't they? Doctors, I mean."

"No, he's different; he knows I know he has a bullet with my name on it. He must be eager to come 'ere and retrieve today's payment plus the other I owe him for last time."

After that, both Mary and the nameless woman didn't know what to say to keep the conversation alive, so no more words were spoken and silence filled the room once more -save for the voices coming from the TV, making the living room seem, at least, a bit less of a lonely place.

Guessing that her friend wouldn't come here anytime soon and that the wounded girl wouldn't say anything more, the woman decided to leave her and just watch the TV silently while her hand tried to look for the mobile phone she had hidden inside a pocket of her worn out jeans.

When she found it, she just opened it and started to dial a phone number, without leaving her eyes from the TV. After the ninth number, the woman stopped looking just to glance at her mobile's screen, to see if she'd dialed the correct number. Since she didn't see any kind of error in what she typed, the woman just clicked the 'dial' button.

…

…

"Hey, dickhead, aren't 'cha forgetting somethin'?"

Not even waiting for the man to open his mouth and ask the identity of his caller, the huntress simply started to insult him and nagg him about being late.

"Oh, hey, I don't care about your fuckin' protocol or whatever shit ya wanna call it; so ya better stop doin' whatever you're doin' and come 'ere asap 'cuz I have a bleedin' puppy with anger issues and it's not pretty." Mary's eyebrows twitched a bit at that. "No, y'knew already; I called you yesterday, didn't I? Don't fucking lie to _me_. Y'knew you had ta come, so don't give me that shit about _being busy._"

Mary wasn't a gossiper by any means, but it was hard not to hear her talk when she was doing so right in front of her. By the thirty-seconds pause in their conversation, she supposed that the huntress' _quack _was a bit displeased by her urgency or had something very important to do and was probably excusing himself...

"Ya don't _remember _where I _live_?" Her hazel eyes widened as she spoke in disbelief.

If she didn't sigh in exasperation was because of a really powerful self-restrain -but she really wanted to smack herself in the head, or smack him in the head instead. Violently.

With a dull sound; that was how Mary stopped looking so intently at the older woman and focused her attention on her surroundings. Mainly, the door that had been knocked.

The same could be said from the aforementioned woman, who turned her head to look at the same direction Mary was looking to.

"And what now...?" A small pause that only lasted a few seconds. "Hey, douchebag, don't hung up. Wait a sec."

Without drawing away the phone, she walked towards the entrance quickly. Then, she stood on tiptoes and glanced through the peephole...

The self-restrain broke and she sighed, opening the door.

Still with the mobile pressed against her ear, she spoke to the person at the other end of it:

"If 'cha thought that was funny, it wasn't."

"How could I forget where a lovely lady's complex of apartments is~? A lovely lady who still owes me five-hundred bucks, but I will forgive her if she shows me some love every once in a while...~"

And the person before her, they who had knocked at the door seconds ago, was a he, and he was speaking via mobile phone, too.

He stepped inside, walking past the huntress until he was standing in front of both women -well, in front of a woman and a scowling girl. He was as old as the hazel-eyed one, and he was more or less about the same height. Black short hair, a bit dishevelled and soaked in sweat -perhaps he had come here running? She didn't remember this part of the year to be very hot. His choice of clothes were pretty simply, wearing a white shirt and black colored jeans that looked kind of 'baggy' on him. She also noticed that he was holding a rather big case on his other hand, the one that hadn't been holding the phone.

His brown eyes were a bit more separated from his nose than the usual, making him look a bit funny, along with his triangle-shaped face. And the way he was smiling only fuelled that. He really had a wide smile; not ugly, not gorgeous, just wide and friendly in a way. All in all, he didn't look like the stereotypical male doctor nor didn't have a unique trait. He was just like that nosy hunter -no pun intended. Not really.

So, as he smiled that amused grin of his, he closed his phone and hid it on a pocket from his trousers and waited for her to say something.

She always had to say something, anyway. Mary knew that much already.

"...Fat chance." She huffed grimly as she turned around to face him, folding her arms. "And last time I did, ya still kept on naggin' me for that payment. Lying bitch."

"Sorry; OCD." He simply shrugged. "Too many people to stalk. I jus' forget."

"Bullshit. Ya just like to piss me off. That's it. Like ya used t'do ten years ago."

"Don't lie. I've been doing that for the last few months~, not only ten years ago. Don't speak on past tense; it's not like we've met recently, huh."

Mary didn't know if she should say something or not. He seemed to be busy bantering with that tall female. In the end, she just didn't say anything and waited for him to introduce himself and make himself useful.

He would, eventually... …

Right, he would.

"Oh, yes, where are my manners?" Shaking his head, he focused his attention towards the brunette sitting in front of the table. _Finally_. "My apologies, I didn't even say 'hello'. The name's Dani, by the way."

"Uh-hu." She nodded, making a bewildering face he didn't know the meaning of. _Was she scowling?_

"Sooo..." Dani folded his arms and took his time to look at the teenager sitting on that chair at his right. "Can you turn around?" He asked. With her sitting that way, with the table obscuring her legs, it was hard to make a proper diagnostic.

With a soft grunt, she did as she was told and turned around, being careful with the table legs.

Once she was sitting properly, he walked towards her and took a better look at that painful purple bulge on her foot. He hissed.

"This looks really bad." He kneeled down and took a hold of it as gently as possible. Now it was Mary's turn to hiss; not from pain -maybe a bit-, but mainly from shock -or surprise, better. Shock is a too extreme word. She _knew _it looked bad. And it hurt. She didn't want it to hurt even more.

"Geez, congratulations. I would have never been able to tell without yer help." For the first time (or maybe Mary didn't really pay attention to her and this was not the first time), she saw her roll her eyes, irritation and hostility in her voice. "Now I know why you got fired."

He sighed:

"I'm not gonna ask what happened."

"_Better_," was Mary's first response that didn't consist only in sound.

"A dubious one you are..." Dani concluded, putting the bad he held in his hand on the floor, next to his feet.

And without further ado, the man went silent and kneeled before the brunette. Meanwhile, the older female of the room took a seat on top of the table, next to the doctor and the injured girl he was attending.

"Does it hurt when I twist it?" With the foot still in his hands, the doctor made the dreaded question-

-And the dreaded action.

He twisted the ankle as a way to have visual proof of her reaction and see if it really hurt her or not. The youngster's body tensed and she turned around at the same time he turned her foot around with a pained yell. "_Yes_, it does!" Her bi-colored eyes weren't friendly.

"How much?"

And he repeated the action again. And the brunette yelled again.

"Fuck, a lot!"

The daggers being fired from her eyes went unnoticed by the black-haired man. He simply nodded at her reply, seeming to be pleased for now, and kept on with his job, and the huntress grinned when hearing the young spitfire squeal. _It was payback for that punch._

Fortunately for Mary, Dani left the ankle alone and his hands went to her leg.

"Does this hurt here, too? Is it bothersome?" Mary felt his fingers press the bones of her leg, but...

"Hardly," she says.

Just in case, the man kept digging his finger on the milky flesh, not roughly but with enough force to make her hiss if she were to be injured. After some time, it was obvious she wasn't hurt there, so he descended his hands without stopping his actions.

The lower he got, the more tense her body went, and the more she scowled (but again, it was hard to tell with her...).

Mary was starting to hate that guy. Slightly.

"It's fractured," he concluded, tearing his hands away for the young girl's relief. Turning his head towards his friend, he spoke; "The ankle's very swollen to be just a simple sprain and whenever it's touched, she's in a world of pain. By the looks of it, I believe she has a second degree sprain, but that's just speculation."

"Could it be broken?" The huntress asked with curiosity as she rose from her seat on top of the table and made her way towards them.

"Nah, I don't think so. ...But" now, he turned his head towards the heterochromatic-eyed girl, "we need an x-ray of the affected area. We could see if there's a fracture and if this needs a more serious treatment, though I don't think that's your case. For now, a compressing bandage and some painkillers will be more than enough."

"Oho." The nameless one spoke in a snort. "Oh well, Sherlock, how do we do that?"

"How do we do _what_?" Dani asked as he picked up the bag he lay on the ground and started to rummage through its contents.

"Well, we 'ave a lil' problem..." She trailed off at the same time he found that thing he so desperately looked for inside his overly-big bag.

"You tell me." Dani took a pack of bandages, still untouched inside a plastic bag, and another pack of adhesive tape. He put them on top of the table, next to Mary, and then stood up, heading towards the kitchen.

"So this lil' one here is in bad terms with law and such..." She watched him go he moved to the kitchen's sink. "So we can't bring her to a hospital to make her an x-ray, y'know."

He stopped for a moment, but the pause was quickly cut with the sound of water falling down as he

"Well, you either think of somethin' or cross your fingers and hope for the best." He shrugged, putting his hands under the pouring water. He started to rub them together and kept on speaking; "What do you want me to do?"

Her hazel-eyes widened, and before Mary could speak, she did; "You went to college. Ya're supposed to be smarter...!"

"Nuh-uh." He shook his head. "You're smarter with illegal affairs, are you not?"

"Uh..."

He didn't let her speak:

"Whatever it is, I don't wanna get involved. You already involved me in enough shit, and I'm not even out yet. _Nope_; you owe me enough."

"..."

"Precisely." And with that, he finished speaking and finished cleaning his hands. He turned the water off and shook his hands in an attempt to dry them, more or less. He came back to the spot where he was standing at the time he was attending the teen.

"Party killer."

"..." He took a hold on the girl's ankle again.

"You're so mean..." The woman didn't surrender.

"..." He raised his free hand to grab the plastic bag with the bandages. He had to let go of Mary's feet for a second to unwrap it.

"C'mon, babe...~"

"..."

"Please~."

Mary felt a bit... uncomfortable when watching them. The way they interacted with each other and the huntress' apparent everlasting debt was _really _creepy for some reason. She didn't know how to put it, but it was _creepy _and that was all there was to it.

Dani grabbed her foot again and started to bandage her, from bottom to top. At first it wasn't so painful, but when he reached to the beginning of her ankle, it all turned nasty for her. She bit her lip and closed her as he applied even more pressure on the bandage, making the experience even worse. She couldn't help but take a sharp intake of breath and a pained groan that fell on deaf ears, but he didn't stop, and the bandage became tighter and tighter.

It was supposed to be a simple bandaging, yet it felt much more worse and much more time-consuming than it was supposed to feel like. It didn't help at all the fact that he had to put bandages over the same area again and again, repeatedly even though it was already covered -and said area was the swollen bulge that hurt so goddamn much. Again and again and again, numbing her.

_Damn, I did really forget how much this shit hurt..._

When he finally broke apart from her ravaged ankle, she let out a very small sigh of relief that only herself could hear. However, the pressure didn't subside -infact, it only became stronger and it was a bit bothersome.

"C'mon, ya'lways have a plan~." The voice came from afar, not giving up.

The hand holding the rolled bandages started to pull towards himself in an effort to tear it appart from the used bandages on her foot. After a bit of struggling and some hissed words coming from Mary's mouth, he was able to tear at the cloth. He put the rolled pack on the ground and raised an arm to gran the adhesive tape.

"Pretty please~?"

He let go of the strip of beige, rugged cloth hanging from her foot for a moment to use the tape to encircle the upper part of her ankle, around Achilles heel but a bit higher, Mary noticed. Then he kept going lower and the pain came back.

When was he going to _stop_? A strangled yelp issued from her mouth before she could silence it.

When he finished, he used the brute force again to tear at the adhesive tape and once he was successful, he simply added the remaining strip to the bandage. And left her alone.

And left her alone.

He stood up and looked at her straight in the eyes;

"Whenever it hurts, a paracetamol will do." Inmediately after he said that statement, he lifted her leg, earning a quizicall stare from her. "And forget about sitting again like that." he grabbed a chair next to him and brought it closer to her only to put it in front of her, consecuently taking himself a few steps away from her. "Keep the sprained joint elevated" he said as he rested her leg on the chair, "and don't move it in the next few days..."

"When was the last time lovely me asked you somethin'~?"

He grabbed all his stuff and put it inside his bag on the floor. "When the four days wait's done, you should start to move it bit by bit so it doesn't get stiff. That would be troubles-"

"Hey you~."

That was it.

He turned around:

"...When will that thick skull of yours get that I'm ignoring you?" He finally surrendered, standing up only to bent over seconds after to get a hold of the straps of the bag so he could carry it with him.

"Nope. You're not. Ya just turned around and replied me~."

"..."

"See?"

He shook his head and made it to the door out of the flat.

"I _can't _sneak you on a x-ray room."

"..."

"...I can, however come every now and then to chek on her progresses, help her with mobility, changing bandages and such... That I can do." He opened the door as if ready to leave.

"How so?" The statement caught the woman's attention and urged him to go on before going out -but it was strange on her eyes, the fact that he hadn't asked her for money yet...

…

…

"With a fitting price. But I'll make you a nice discount; not the girl here's fault to be involved with a swindler."

For a moment, said girl found herself doubting if he was talking about himself as the swindler or if he was referring to his friend.

At first the other female nodded in approval, but he knew that wouldn't last forever. And he waited.

Slowly, the information in her mind started to be assimilated and her eyes snapped open:

"Wait, you can't!" She faked a sob. "I have to pay for that, too?!"

Mary scowled.

_Gee, thank you._

"Yep." he said simply, mischief in his eyes by the fact of making his friend beg. "Don't worry, I'll just charge it to your bill~. You already owe me so much for other times I'm sure you won't mind to add seven bills more~."

Another sob.

Mary shuddered for no reason whatsoever.

"Oh, for the love of... -safe the fake tears. It ain't working anymore."

"..."

"Just give me time..." She resigned.

"_Aaaaalright_." He nodded, gave a two-finger salute to Mary and went out from the huntress' flat.

Once he was out, moments later, she spoke again:

"... ... ...Ya'll be the ruin of me..." She muttered.

"You insisted." Mary shrugged.

"Urgh."

The silence was so thick and heavy that he could have cut through it with a knife. The long-haired woman waited for the other to say something -complain about the pain, or ask her about those visits, or go on with how bad she wanted to leave, or _something._

Since that wasn't going to happen, she forced herself to revive the conversation:

"So..."

"So."

"Did you see it my way, then~?"

Something in that woman's voice was just plain _irritable. _Mary wasn't sure what it was, but it was _something. _Obviously.

"And hypothetically..."

"Yep~?"

Mary sighed, hating herself.

"Where's the catch?"

"Hm. Nothin' at all~. But ya would hafta pay me a rent." She cocked her head and looked at her with lazy eyes. "My only condition~."

"I supposed so."

The brunette was trying to avoid the dreaded question that she would eventually be asked to. The huntress smirked a sly smirk, eyes gleaming in self-pride and a lot of obnoxious feelings that made Mary want to roll her eyes.

The self-proclaimed teacher surely was the kind of person who liked to always be right,

"Do we have a deal?"

The soon-to-be huntress sighed. This wasn't what she had had in mind... Shewanted to be able to watch after herself, not relying on the help of others. This was really uncomfortable.

This would be a long day indeed.

Mary didn't reply just yet.

* * *

Being alone in the mansion has its good things: Vergil didn't have to close himself inside a single room all the day, nor did he have to be mindful about the woman and the child that used to wander around, or be silent when he wanted to sneak out the mansion.

Right now, for example, he was downstairs without the need of being alert all the time in case someone got inside. Said place, just like the other rooms, held an aristocratic air in it which made him think that whoever designed the place must have really liked this old-fashioned style -that, or that whoever who bought the mansion didn't have enough money to re-decore it. Usually, humans didn't like this style much. He himself feels it's a bit too exaggerated and overly-ornate, even for him.

Behind him there were the stairs, to the left; the entrance -or in his case, the exit- was on the right; if he went straight forward, he would end up in the kitchen.

Though he didn't always hide; sometimes he had allowed to be seen, on very rare occasions.

Sitting on one of the three seats from the living room -a couch and two chairs-, Vergil entertained himself by glancing through the window at his right, ignoring everything around him -and the little blonde child at his left, sitting on a red-cushioned chair similar to his.

That was the bad thing.

Alice didn't have to be mindful about people seeing her, either.

"You're too loud. ...So much for your _superb_ hiding skills you always boast over. I'm ever so impressed."

Which meant she was always around, and that child was a pain. Always around him. ...That impetuous fool that was his brother had come out from his hideout; he didn't need her anymore, as far as he was concerned -but what would do a doll, a marionette controled by demons, to help him?

The answer was simple.

Vergil didn't turn around to face her. Not if it wasn't necessary, and she still hadn't even presented herself.

Alice, apparently, had been practising to be as silent as a cat, to appear and disappear without people noticing her, alone he was sure -or with that insufferable hatter, but it really escapes his attention, the fact of why they would want to lose their time with a lousy witch-wannabe who had no power.

Well, if she had him to teach her or not, that wasn't of Vergil's concern, though it was interesting that she, powerless, was able to perform the trickster kind of tricks lately...

She must be using something.

Alice sighed but said nothing yet, disappointed at his not-so-effusive display of kindness that shouldn't bother her much -but it did, and her pride hurt a little because she hadn't been able to cover her scent.

Will he ever appreciate the hard-work she has to go through for him, someday? It's annoying to be ignored like that. It bothers her. It stings a bit, too.

It's... It's just not fair.

"...I have to talk with you." She finally says from afar in her position, feeling dejected even though she tried to look determined -a bit, at least.

That was true. It was not a trick. He'd made her go there to find Vergil and tell him the good news, yes. Arkham already knew and the location that had been pointed out was on the right track. However, she couldn't help but try to use this little moment to speak with him in a nice way -and luckily, it wouldn't involve a murder. He was strong, too. He could help her, perhaps.

It won't hurt much if she tries.

The man, still not facing her, eyes the pre-teenager by the corner of his eye, scornfully:

"No. Unlike you, I won't do anything just because I'm told to."

Something ugly formed in Alice's usual innocent features. With a ragged sigh, Alice tries to push them away, but is unable, so she bows her head to obscure them with her straight-across bangs.

With a rough voice, she said more firmly:

"I must have some words with you."

"I heard you the first time."

"..."

She didn't reply right away. Was she really so absentminded that she was wasting his time in thinking about a suitable response? Didn't she remember? Isn't that dumb?

Witches, humans who use the powers of demons; they really are entities to pity, especially if said witch had no talent nor she could absorb power.

There was a moment of dreadful silence. You could hear small drops of water fall as a small storm started to form -with gray clouds replacing the usual scarlet sky of the setting sun.

But no, not really. Vergil could hear the rain, but there was another sound that was more interesting that it, and he definitely could hear it louder.

It _was_ louder, after all. It was hard not to hear it. Louder because the sound came from the very same room where he and that poor excuse of a magician were; and nothing escapes his attention.

A soft sound, coming from the place where Alice was sitting on that fancy chair, one that he didn't expect to hear -but he did.

"Mreow~"

Raising an eyebrow, Vergil finally decided to give the blonde girl some attention, having the worst timing ever: the cerulean slayer looked at her straight in the eyes, but not for too much time, much for the girl's displeasure. Then he glanced down until his eyes were set on the small white pet that was curled up on her arms. A white cat that couldn't contain its excitement when Vergil noticed its presence.

He shouldn't have looked at her -no, better yet, he shouldn't have noticed the cat.

Alice tried to contain her squirming pet that was trying to break free from her protective grip, and failed. The cat managed to escape-

-and much to her horror, it dashed towards Vergil's legs.

"Nh...!" She let out a muffled cry.

However, the slayer said nothing, not minding the animal's claws going past the fabric of his trousers to dig into his flesh as it mewed rather excitedly at him. He simply stood up as a way to get the kitten off of him -but it kept latching on his clothes with its claws and it simply wouldn't let go.

"I supposed you knew _black_ cats are witches' familiars." He mocked.

Even a _cat_ knew how to mask its presence better than her.

Without giving it much thought, Vergil reached a gloved hand to grab the kitten by its scruff. Somehow, being grabbed there made the small cat surrender. The half-devil felt how its claws retracted. He used that to his advantage to pull a paw at a time off of his legs with the other hand that wasn't holding the white ball of fur.

Now that he was grabbing it with both hands, Vergil lifted it to his face level so he could see the pet better as well as he could keep it away from its master, she who was looking at him dubiously, with a mix of... what was that?

That emotion that swirled around her blue eyes?

It was something akin to fear.

Fear.

Fear...

Perhaps fear was too extreme. It was more like worry: worry that he could kill her friend as he did with her last one.

Vergil seemed to insist on killing and destroying everything cherished to her: her friends and her pride and...

Now that both devil and animal were at face level, Vergil could see better that thing that now monopolized Alice's life. He opened his mouth slightly to speak -probably to demand her what was so important that she came to bother him with her presence, but he was cut when the cat forced him to look at its eyes by spewing nonsensical, almost desperate mewls and meows. Vergil lowered his gaze and stared at its eyes. They were blue, bright blue like the sky, and the way they shined was unsettling.

They reminded him of his own. Blue eyes much like his own.

Alice was speaking, but he didn't care.

* * *

"_We will make an incredible team~."_

**No.**

_She wouldn't be reading them stories anymore, and he choose the ones who hunted them dow for years instead of him. It wouldn't be possible. And those icy blue eyes from his memory aren't blue anymore._

_They won't be anymore._

_They turn scarlet. Deep red, red like blood and like those dozens (or hundreds) of small, ominous dots, hiding in the darkness as they watched and leered._

_And waited._

_Red like those blood red dots that he would find to be eyes, just waiting for him to get closer as he made it out of his improvised grave._

_And they, who had been three, now were none._

* * *

"Vergil."

Alice was now standing right in front of him, silently watching his facial features and the movements of his hands, which were squeezing her new friend's form with too much force to be comfortable. She was very afraid he might kill the kitten just like he did with Rabby, so as much as she wanted him to drop her friend, she held back and waited.

Calling his name seemed to be effective, if only partially. When hearing his name, Vergil woke up from his trance and stopped looking at the cat's blue eyes to glance at the small girl in front of him. A look of determination mixed with fearfulness adorned her face. Just like before he disconnected with the world around him.

"Where did you get this?"

"Huh?"

"This demon," was Vergil's deadpan response before his grip on the kitten faltered, consequently dropping it.

The cat didn't expect to be dropped after being held in place with so much force; when that happened, gravity started to work and the animal yelled loudly as it fell. Alice had yelped, too; a soft cry of surprise, relief and fear. When it collided against the floor, it hissed and quickly ran towards its master, who kneeled before it swiftly and took it in her arms.

Things that made him remember his past were filthy. He wanted to forget it ever happened; distance himself from it as much as possible.

And yet, as he surveyed both animal and human with disgust, his cerulean irises didn't seem to be expressionless as per usual.

Oh well. Hey, thinking about it, maybe it was that thing that helped her cover her scent (and failed).

That cat... wasn't something earthly.

"Her name is Maribel." Alice says, petting her kitty friend. "She usually goes around in this form but I don't remember her being-"

"You're not only incompetent; you also are deaf."

The blonde girl frowned at that, ego-stabbed. The small white cat seemed to notice the uneasiness in her master, so she licked her hand, as if saying 'don't worry buddy, I'm with you~'.

"... ...Hatter gave her to me." She finally replied to his question. "Said she would come in handy. She's an exceptional friend." _'Don't kill her, please' _was left unsaid.

…

…

___Coward. Why am I not surprised?_

Vergil didn't need to question further about that and returned to the main topic that kid had tried to discuss with him instead.

"...And why is it that you haven't told me yet?"

"Huh?" And this time, Alice's frown was one of confusion. Alice, though, had grown to know that Vergil liked to speak to people expecting them to know exactly what he was talking about.

"You wanted to pester me with something."

"..."

"What are you waiting for?"

The blonde sighed, remembering.

"Right."

* * *

___The most intricate thing to find in this world.  
Is it a needle that you lost in the desert?_

___The most intricate thing to find in this world.  
Is it a crow's feather that you lost in the darkness of the night?_

___The most intricate thing to find in this world is  
realizing your own erroneous contemplation._

-******Frederica Bernkastel**

* * *

**A/N: DON'T **mind my OCs; they are only here for the plot's sake. Actually, **next chapter** **WILL** be **HEAVY Vergil/Lady**. No worries, please ;A; Yeah, that was that thing that was so important (urgh, too much cap locks...). Sorry. You can keep reading.  
**-Also, at the end you can find the summary of the next chapter. **Geez, you're all such a tough crowd to get reviews from... why don't you show me some love? ;A; Please?  
**-**Chapie for Snow757. A token of my apreciation for ya! (you already know why, right? :3). I hope you liked it~! =w= And also, I wanna thank my charming beta sbed, who takes the time to look out for my errors (and I'm sure they aren't _just a few_) and reassure me when I'm paranoid, too.

Thanks to all the people who had read and still read this little one here, and I hope I can still make them like this story (and if I'm lucky, love it :3). Remember, reviews are lovely love :3

_**Next chapter contents: Pretty much Lady-centric. How she ever made it out the mansion and so on~. Aaaaand yes, Vergil starts to take a 'liking' on Lady and this chapter will have a lot of moments with him and Lady, but I'm not gonna tell you how that will happen because I'm mean and I want you to find out by yourselves~ :3. But yes, it'll be pretty heavy, as much as I can make it considering the story hasn't even reached the middle.**_


	5. Miracle Girl

**A/N: Hey there~! Long time no see, huh? I'm baaaaaaaack! :D And with a veeery long chapter~. Now you see why it took me so long? ;A; I'm not gonna lie that there were other things that kept me from writing this chapter, too... Let's hope this chapter is somewhat decent.**

**Lavender Sky: **Thanks for the kind words ;_; I'm very glad to know I'm kinda of going the right way. So thank you, thank you, thank you! *nods enthusiastically*

**Guest: **I know that feeling. I guess this is really confusing, for the fic starts after DMC1, which takes place after DMC3, and all of sudden, I go back to the past, when the Temen-Ni-Gru wasn't even raised yet, and then go back to the Post-DMC1 timeline. As stated **(and this is a message for everyone), everything starting from chapter three is set in the past, before DMC3 takes place**. Everything you see in cursive is a flashback from before the DMC3 manga and what is written without the cursive are the actions that take place during this timeline that is pre-DMC3. The cursive parts in the first chapter were flashbacks, too, from the pre-DMC3 era (because the main action took place after DMC1). Once I'm finished telling Lady's untold story, I will go back to the main time-line from the first chapter.  
With all this said, I... what can I say? I'm happy that this mess of time skips is starting to make sense for you (and hopefully for some other people, too~ :3). One thousand 'thank you's. Thinking that there are readers like you out there makes me want to give my best, so here, a very looongg chapter for you guys ;_; *crosses fingers*

* * *

**Phantasm**

**Chapter 5: Miracle Girl**

* * *

"_F... Fa... Father?"_

_Her blood ran cold in her veins. _

_After agonizing seconds of standing motionless, just watching, her mind was chaotic enough not to tell her to run, and instead, she came in closer. The sound of her footsteps as she closed the distance between them and the stairs felt too loud. _

_...Her eyes were widening and watering, her lips were trembling, and her thoughts were going out of control._

What... ... happened...?

_Everything was wrong. The image of the blood stained floor, the laughter, his face, covered in blood, his eyes, not like her own anymore, but red... … And her mother, motionless, too, long hair obscuring her burnt, distorted face. Whilst Mary wanted to come near and hold her close, her limbs thought otherwise._

_Words didn't want to come out. Mary didn't know if they were even needed. They felt like... rocks inside her throat that simply wouldn't want to come out to let her breath._

_The man extended an opened hand to her, and she couldn't bring herself to believe it was her father standing before her. The hand, the whole arm, were stained in deep vermilion._

_This is... T-this... G-God... Damn it... Damn... _

_She took some steps back. In return, he took some slow steps towards her, as if he were in some kind of trance, head bowed down._

_She stumbled, wide eyed. Her eyes were burning and her heart was beating way too fast for it to be healthy. She felt hands were shaking. Her shoulders sagged. All of sudden, the always confident teenager looked like she was a little, frightened child._

"_Oh, Mary, my dear. Did I wake you up?" He asked, ____tilting his head to one side. His bicolored eyes are soulless, __as if the chaos around him did not exist and was just a mere illusion from her own lunatic mind. _

_He had a thin smile on his lips that held no positive emotion; there were only crazed eyes that watched her every move. Lunatic eyes just like hers., that looked like they would be able to burn her entire being. Mary felt as though she was a specimen inside a cage, in front of a mad scientist._

_What is this?_

_Mary tried to open her mouth several times to speak, but she still found herself unable. His words pierced her like a needle would pierce a small rag of cloth. Without mercy. _

_"T-this... T-that..." The girl couldn't specify what, exactly, she meant. She... simply couldn't call her mother 'the corpse'; she couldn't talk about it and she didn't know what it was doing there, **why** it was even there._

_Mary looked at the scene with something akin to amazement and panic on her face. Her voice was fragmented, completely broken._

_She wanted to plead, to beg, to cry, but the words died in her throat. _

"_You came at a convenient time." She'd heard him say, and felt the corners of his lips twitch as he spoke. _

_She took more steps away from him, ever so slowly, looking aghast._

"_M... Mo... … No...!"_

"_Why that face?"_

_She was getting closer to the stairs that would take her to the first floor, but he was also walking to her way. All her instincts were screaming at her to run away, but she couldn't bring herself to leave... or rather, leave _her. _The scenario alone was too unreal for her to believe in its existence, and so her legs seemed to have serious problems to work the way they should._

"_What's wrong? Why are you so afraid of your father, Mary dear?"_

_Said girl cringed and tripped when she stepped on one of the rungs from the stairs behind her. She fell to the ground inelegantly, raising a bit of dust the moment her butt made contact. Mary quickly composed herself, for her father was getting way too close for her liking._

"_N...No...!" She yelped._

_Faster than he gave her credit for, Mary sprinted up the stairs and dashed away from the twisted scenery that she had been forced to see. She kicked the door leading out from the basement and then she forced it shut with a kick from the heel of her foot. She didn't mind being loud. Her legs moved as though they had a life of its own and the brunette teenager barely had any control of her movements. She had to get away and she had to do it fast. Now, as she ran through the corridors she had seen and walked by so many times in her life, ones that she held fond memories of, seemed like their walls had eyes. _

_The corridors took strange shapes and it looked like they had a mind of its own. They seemed like they twisted and closed on her, suffocating her. They watched her every move and tried to stop her from reaching the stairs. Even the inanimate furniture seemed to be against her. Mary struggled to dodge them all. She couldn't afford them to slow her down._

"_Why do you run away, sweetheart?" he called in the distance. "Are you refusing your daddy?"_

_It wasn't his voice. She didn't remember it like that. It sounded as though she was hearing a damaged radiocasette record, the voice of another person wearing the skin of her dad; a stranger posing as him. Said voice didn't sound very far away (maybe his voice had been always this loud? Or was he being loud on purpose?), but the sound of her bare feet as she ran and her frantic heartbeat were loud enough for her not to be able to tell just how far away he was from her. _

_This couldn't be him, it couldn't...! At the same time, though, there was this rational voice in her mind, slightly buried down beneath tons of other frantic, unintelligible thoughts of panic, that told her that there was no mistake, that the person standing before mom's corpse was, indeed, her dad in the flesh._

_All these voices were going to turn her mad. _

_Survival instincts were quick to kick up, and whilst she ran, she wondered what was she doing. What would have happened if she hadn't awoken? And what if she hadn't heard the screaming coming from the subterranean room? Would he have... … done the same to her...?_

_She didn't know what was really happening, and her legs seemed to be moving as though they had a life of its own. She didn't know why. She couldn't believe this was real and that she was really running away from him. The border of dream and reality couldn't be distinguished anymore. Whishfully thinking, as Mary ran away, she liked to delude herself into thinking this was a bad dream caused by a possible indigestion or vision was blurry and she couldn't recognise most of the stuff she came across -but she could see, not crystal clear but she could see. Maybe this was just a bad dream after all, given the blurry vision and by how she felt that she was flying, rather than running._

_She felt incorporeal, immaterial, as she ran through the corridors, twisting ways when needed, in order to arrive to the stairs. She didn't feel 'real'. However, it was hard to believe this was some twisted creation coming from her subconscious when her feet touched the cold, marble floor. The sound of maniacal laughter, the smell of smoke... and the image of her unmoving body... and her own beating heart, her tears... they were real._

_Her ragged breath, she was breathing hard, and sweating. She could taste her own perspiration in her lips. She didn't felt tired, though. On the contrary, any trace of sleep harshly vanished and was replaced with something fierce, a feeling that threatened to take away her own mental stability. She couldn't describe it as one. She couldn't think about something other than... that. So she couldn't fix a name to it._

_She ran, escaping his destruction. He just watched: in the distance, he watched how she was making a futile attempt at stopping that which cannot be stopped. He could smell, feel her fear, her shaky breathing, her quivering sobs... the pace of her running was becoming frantic. _

_He had no hurry, he didn't run after her. Even if she escaped, she would come back. He knew this, she knew this. He would just put his new powers in test later. A distorted laugh issued out of his throat, echoing in the small room where he alone was standing with a bloodied corpse laying at his feet. _

_Wide-eyed, there were tears slowly forming on the corners of her eyes, only to fall and leave red marks on her cheeks as they made their way down to her cheekbone. She tried to contain her sobs, but the more she thought about what she saw, the more she felt herself crying, snot forming in her nostrils, making it difficult for her to run: he'd been so eager when he looked at the dead body, kicking it over with his feet, laughing at her face, even daring to ask Mary why was she so distraught. Mary's family, people she knew and loved, he hadn't cared. He... doesn't care._

_But why? Why?_

_The girl, like a flying object wreaking havoc, went upstairs towards her parents' room -but it was no more when they didn't exist anymore. Like a thousand needles being shoved down her throat, her entire body hurt, but at the same time, the adrenaline running through her veins made her feel numb. She burst the door open and quickly opened the doors of a white closet opposite the window, at her right. She heard clothes falling as she looked frantically for that small thing that can safe her life. Her free ticket out of that place. The more she looked for it, the more anxious she became; she wasn't being fast enough._

_That was until she found it at the back of the closet, hidden under countless of bags and old clothes. When she felt the coldness of the black gun against her hand, Mary started to feel nausea._

_With the gun in hand, she thought she had more than enough, but she reminded that was not quite right. No, it wouldn't be accurate to say she remembered; the light coming from the window made her catch a glimpse of something laying on top of a bundle of discarded clothes on a chair placed in front of the window, next to the vertically placed bed. That was what made her remember that she was forgetting something very important -and that she was still wearing pajamas, but she had no time to think about that._

_She made her way out of the room with the gun and was in front of the door, but she didn't open it. She... hesitated at first, but then she quickly turned around and went towards the chair._

_She roamed through the bundle of dirty clothes that were placed on top of it in search for that thing until the hand not holding the gun felt the leather. Without second thoughts, she pulled it out and hurriedly left the room, her heart pounding so loud she could hear it if it weren't for her erratic breath. She resumed her running, this time towards her room. It wasn't far away from her parents' -some steps away from it, but not much. Once she was in front of it, she just opened the door and closed it as fast as she could when she was inside, not even bothering about being loud. She was almost done, and knowing this, Mary couldn't shake the nauseating feeling of nervousness off. The more self-conscious she was, the more her body betrayed her._

_Her hazy, red, watering eyes scanned her room, those walls she knew so much, that bed she slept on so much... and that lonely bag beneath it, resting on the cold ground. She ran towards and, with a forceful tug, she tried to lift it from the ground with the only two fingers from the hand holding the wallet (and succeeded) as she sat on the bed. She put the bag on the mattress, next to her, and once she put everything she was holding on top of the untidy bed, too, she proceeded to open it. The purse was big enough to put it all inside, so she did, the gun being the exception. Aside from the new things she put inside, there was also some money discarded all around and a bottle of water. Mary also grabbed the uniform laying in a heap on the floor beneath her -and almost wanted to cheer herself for not being a tidy teenager. The brunette made a ball out of the clothes and forced them into the bag desperately, silently praying for them to fit, which they did, miraculously. Her arms trembled with giddiness and fear._

_She zipped the bag and stood up, staggering slightly just like a drunken woman wearing high heels would do. She even felt herself jump the moment she heard 'sounds' coming from the stairs, not far away from her. Panic in her started to rise again, more than she thought it was possible. Mary stayed static, frozen in place while hesitating what should she do next. __S__he froze where she was. She heard it, echoing deep in the dark corridors of her mind – his voice._

_...And footsteps. _

_Footsteps could be heard in the distance. Mary's heart beat even faster as her hands became cold and sweaty, and _swallowed hard and her throat tightened_. She grabbed the gun quickly and pointed it towards the direction she heard the distant sound, no longer worrying about the bag, currently wrapped around her shoulder. _

_The sound didn't cease, she didn't lower the gun and she was walking backwards, tentatively, slowly -that was until her back hit the wall and there was no way she could go further. The frame of the window was pressed against her back painfully for a moment -the instant she felt that impulse of pain, she jolted and turned her around._

_She realised that right before her, there was her freedom: an opened window big enough for her to jump through. _

_She didn't care about how, exactly, she would pull it off. Her body and her rational self felt like two different selves._

* * *

In the distance, she hears a small gasp. Barely audible perhaps, but she's still able to notice it. In the dead of the night, a hunter must be sensitive to any kind of auditory impulses. The sound of rain, the sound of footsteps, the sound of breathing... always alert. It was an ability you had to know how to use if you didn't want to get killed. Survivor skills, you might say.

It was a broken cry, a dying sob tearing out of her chest. Painful.

When she heard her, she stirred in her sleep and grumbled, but any kind of complain died off when the fog of her sleepy mind dissipated and she was able to process the information and tie everything together so she could know what was going on.

The little child is surely thrashing about in her sleep. Whimpers and sobs coming from within her, making her company. The woman who is silently listening sits on the mattress and plays with the sheets, not daring to get up and do something about the girl's crying.

Happiness drains away and the pain remained. Nightmares would be the solace that a hunter would have for the rest of their lives: of memories of deaths of comrades and close friends by the hands of demons, memories of failed missions, of wounds, of dead corpses whose stomachs had been ripped open and people crying over them. Of blood and laughter and simple disappointment.

The woman has seen those things, more than once in her lifetime. The images would sometimes make its way into her mind and saddle her with unnecessary guilt, but it was something you had to cope with: ...there's no point in crying over spilt milk, but this girl is young, she can always go back to her past life, turn her back to the darkness of their world, but... once you discover demons' existence, it's hard to go back to the same.

Reminding herself that crying over spilt milk is of no use, she pretends not having thought about that.

There's a lot she doesn't know about her. She's not sure if she even has a saying in all this that has happened to her... But she's sure comforting her might be for naught. The girl does not accept pity nor compassion, not even friendly empathy **-_I kinda know what that feels like._**

She might claw her face off, she thought to herself with a slight cringe she quickly replaces with a blank stare, along with a big yawn. She feels somewhat guilty now. She scratches the back of her neck.

Hm... The woman knows the girl wouldn't like to be pitied, either (but it's not _pity_, though). She wouldn't want pity if she were in the same position -but she's sure she wouldn't be so fucking sullen if people were as nice as to offer her some help.

...And still...

…

What would drive someone so young to become something like them? Even though she had told herself two days ago that she was no detective, she can't help thinking about it.

She closes her eyes again with hopes of catching sleep again. A sleepy hunter is a dead hunter.

* * *

"How did our ever-so-charming sleepin' beauty sleep?"

It takes her a while to retort -half past seven again. It was torture and it hadn't been long since she had woken up. Keeping her balance and not falling down was hard enough. Shit, Mary didn't remember how to use crutches anymore. More importantly, she didn't remember it to be this _difficult. _It was like learning to walk all over again. Her moves were clumsy and slow.

She dodged the opened door, then the TV and the couch, until she reached the woman who was speaking to her, that woman who was now sitting on that table behind the flowery-patterned couch, that same table where she'd been healed yesterday, eating. Once the aforementioned furniture was 'harmless' (being hit with the legs of a table is painful regardless if you have an injured foot or not) and was right in front of the eating woman, Mary stopped struggling with the crutches.

Standing with only one feet, she lets go of her left crutch for a moment, placing it against her, carefully so it wouldn't drop. With her free hand, she rubs the sleep off her eyes and finally says without much humor, "Oh, just cool."

And then the petite one makes her way towards the taller woman and the table, where she takes a seat next to her. She raises her injured foot beneath the table, resting it on top of the cushioned seat of another nearby chair -in front of her, more or less-, so it was on suspension, just as the doctor told her to have it; she wanted it to recover as fast as it could.

Again, said female had taken the modesty of preparing her something decent to make her starving stomach cheer. Mary still doesn't know how to feel about this, and she definitely didn't want to appear sad in front of that stranger, so she forced herself to make a happier face -or something different from the usual frown.

In front of her, there were two plates with toasts with the following things to chose: jam, butter and foie grass. There was also a glass full of fresh orange juice for both of them.

The chestnut woman knew her words were a lie, that she was not fine (her face didn't do a good job at covering her feelings. What a lame liar), but she doesn't bring the conversation up. Duh, that would only bring problems and awkwardness -not to mention that it's not the kind of conversation you would like to have after getting up while eating breakfast. Making matters worse was not what she intended after having accomplished that much; she didn't want to lose what little 'trust' the spitfire had for her.

Oh, and she hits hard, that black-haired child. She doesn't want her fist to make contact with her face again if she can avoid it. So no, no more fights against her.

"Glad to hear that; 'cuz I'm not gonna be finished with you until past midnight. You'll have lots of energy to spend~. I'm gonna be worse than your P.E teacher. Worse than a rabid dog or a back street boys' fangirl."

"Funny, I don't remember making some kind of contract with you, and you almost make it sound like I'm selling my soul to a devil."

The woman rolled her eyes; "Still playin' hard to get? I'm a pain in the ass, y'know. I'm a pest, I won't stop. And I can't really find any logic at your denial. What would your pretty self do all by her self?" She pointed at her -mainly, at her bandages. "Do I always have to remind you the cons, rookie?"

"..."

"..."

Mary was certain that hunter wasn't joking when she said she was a pain in the ass. She could already tell, but she had to admit this flat of hers was better than any motel room she had been in.

"You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days."

"..."

Perhaps.

"... … … So?" The brown-haired woman insists again. "You're spacing out, sweetie. What about if we make some idle conversation and then you tell me your answer? And this time, don't throw stuff at me, ya?"

The brunette rolled her eyes.

Nothing better than this to start the day properly.

_Damn it all to hell._

Mary took a small pause to talk. Taking a small breath, she made up her mind and thought about her words. And then she speaks them aloud:

"... …Well, there's no need for such a thing. I've been thinking," Mary says, focusing her gaze on the table.

"No shit." The other deadpanned.

Mary clicks her tongue. "_Yes, _sunshine. Perhaps that charcoal of a mind you have cannot fathom it, but I do think and I did reach a conclusion," she seethed, glaring vehemently.

_Ouch._

"Har har har. How funny. So I'm the dumb one, huh?" Th woman grinned as she pointed at herself.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Now, I'm not the one covered in bandages and nasty wounds, am I?"

Mary rolled her eyes -and she wasn't sure just how many times she's done that already. If she's not careful it might become a habit.

"Look. I still think what you little freak have been saying is bullshit-"

"_Freak_, huh?" Nameless muttered. "You're one to talk."

"-but if it'll get me anywhere, then fine."

"You have a curious way of coming into terms with things, but at least you did say 'yes'. I knew you would, though~." Her grin became wider and Mary had the urge to punch it off her face. "Then, everything's settled. Tony will piss himself when he sees you~."

"What? You're going to exhibit me like some kind of trophy?" She snorted. "How old are we, again?"

"Oh, you will care about being shown as a trophy, as you put it. Sponsoring is very important in this line of work when you're young and amateur... unless you're a pretty boy with white hair. Then that matters very little." She grumbled and Nameless didn't notice it, but Mary winced visibly at her words, as though she had just sucked a lemon. "Fuck, I mean, it's not fair that he gets all the funny jobs, I'm much older than him!" She looked slightly indignant. Slightly.

"Oh, _lookie_. Miss Sunshine can get pissed off at someone. Thought you might be spreading love and flowers?"

"And the scowling brat tried to make a joke!" She faked a surprised expression and clapped her hands together several times. The woman was starting to see the teenager she found on the streets was quite the mood-swinger. First she was annoyed and then she tries to mock her.

The hunter's face changed again drastically and was now adorned with a blank expression as she continued talking:

"You're still a rookie." She gave a casual shrug. "And I don't want to have the weight of your death in my conscience. You will get used to this in no time, I'm good making predictions."

Mary's eyes tightened suspiciously:

"And the fact that you get someone to help you pay the rent has nothing to do with this? Along with that 'lack of personal' thing?"

"... … It kinda helped, too~." She admitted in a laugh, not even looking sheepish about it.

"Oh, but of course." Mary commented sarcastically.

In the middle of her own rambling, the older woman had mused to herself about how it would had been for the short youngster to challenge a demon probably twice her height, with only a pair of guns and a knife.

Consequently, she spoke her mind and asked:

"So, what kind of thing did you fight? I'm having some trouble with this certain demon I can't find anywhere. I'm ever so curious now." She asked expectantly. Truth be told, the huntress has been _really_ curious if the demon Mary saw was the same demon behind the random breakouts in the last few weeks, and she also wondered briefly what kind of demon would be able to inflict such neat and _precise _wounds. They looked as though they had been done with a knife, rather than with claws or with the blade of a scythe... they were not inflicted at random, but accurately placed on parts of the body that wouldn't bleed to death if wounded. "You did kill it, right?" She hoped that by using this stupid, idle conversation about her daily exploits she would, at least, warm up to her. Maybe she would know enough about her so she could tell what, exactly, caused her those wounds. Surely, a demon that can make such precise cuts had to be something especial, and she and her _team_, so to speak, are looking for that sort of thing.

Mary's lips curled in distaste, but instead of glaring at the woman or blowing her off with a harsh comment, she simply kept on eating breakfast. "No. The blood was all mine. It's still alive, and I accomplished nothing."

The scowl in the girl's face didn't wear off, and it reminded the huntress of the same scowl she'd wore when she punched her in the jaw. Or when she first met her.

"Oh." It was that kind of 'oh' you say when you lose the keys of your car. The huntress realized that she had brought up the wrong topic for a conversation and didn't quite know how to react. And she cursed herself mentally, several times.

_Me and my stupid big mouth... _

She's not going to say sorry; this girl must be tired of hearing this, all the same. I'm sorry wasn't going to cut it.

Fighting the urge to smack herself in the forehead, she retorted quickly: "Hey, well, but you didn't run away~. Who's the coward 'ere?"

"... ..."

At her silence, the woman smiled and laughed nervously. This time, she did look sheepishly at the young girl, fighting the urge to scratch her nose.

"Ha...?"

"... …" The girl looked like she was thinking about this. "... … Hm."

And a barely audible sound of approval was her reply.

It could have been worse.

"Hey look, you said you wanted to know how to defend yourself." She changed of subject again, this time going straight to the point as she hoped she didn't hit any more nerves.

"Yeah. You better not be bullshitting me. I'm not in the mood for jokes."

_'Are you even in the mood for something?'_, she wanted to ask

"No, not kidding. I'm an unorthodox but _splendid" _Mary had to snort at that, "teacher that is't going to charge you much money and doesn't wanna rape you. I think that's pretty cool~."

"Urgh." Mary's face contorted in something rather ugly. "Did you have to use that example?"

"Oh look, another lame joke." She laughed. "Today is your day, it seems. My dirt must be rubbing on you."

"What a pain. Just another headache to look forward to." Mary looked at the woman with (mock) disdain as she sighed.

"S'okay. I've been called worse. But I'm a helpful headache, mind you."

"Aren't you contradicting yourself a bit?"

"Naw, you're just way too hardy with me. And I still don't know why I'm even asking you when it should be the other way 'round, you begging for me to let you use my stuff and my _bed_. You're the stranger here, y'know. You're lucky that I'm all nice and stuff."

"Well, sorry, but waking up in an unfamiliar place laying on the bed of some random stranger, covered in bleeding wounds, is not my ideal wet dream."

"That's not a nice thing to say, girlie. Waking up to find a bipolar hellcat and my beautiful bed stained in blood was not a wet dream for me, either."

"I never said I'd be nice _with you_."

"Hm." The woman made a small pause, face showing seriousness. "...Touché. You really are a meanie."

Mary knows that if she wants to do what she wants to do, she must do it right. Mary knows she has no real knowledge of what she's doing, or about what she's supposed to do. Of course, she knows she doesn't have enough time to waste in trying to teach herself how to hunt, and knows a little help... would... be nice -but admitting this kind of hurt. A lot. Mary didn't want to involve anyone into her matters and she certainly wanted to do this on her own. It was her destiny, something she alone could do and no one else. As she thought about it, she wore a face that looked like someone was twisting a knife in her stomach.

The woman grinned her usual grin at the pained face the girl wore:

"That face is not fitting for a teen." She said, attempting to lighten the mood.

Mary's body relaxed at that.

She even heaved out a sigh. Not a frustrated sigh, but more like a tired sigh.

The woman's eyes narrowed playfully She quickly moved them away from Mary's gaze to stare at the ceiling though, as though she was thinking about something very transcendental even though she was still smiling in that silly way that managed to get in Mary's nerves. "Today we're gonna gather ta' talk 'bout some weird shit happening lately, it'll be the perfect moment to show ya 'round. I think you'll be interested in what we gotta tell."

The girl raised an eyebrow at that, chewing the food slowly as she considered the woman's words while the rational part in her told her that that was bad idea.

"Oh, you sure it'll be a good idea to take a limping woman to a den of demons?" The brunette asked sourly, folding her arms as she raised an eyebrow. She was not really amused by being in this situation. It was a pain. It was bothersome and she was... tired.

For a moment, her eyes glared at the table in rage, even if it wasn't the cause of her problems.

If she ever found that demon again...

"Of course not! You would become a swiss cheese the moment you set your foot on there! Just like that."

"..."

"... … But if my life consisted of good ideas, you wouldn't be 'ere with me."

"..."

Mary's train of thoughts crashed when hearing her voice, and the unpleasant dreams, memories and murderous intents vanished. Even if it was for a while. It was fine. It was better if she was kept distracted so she couldn't think.

"And I wouldn't be 'ere, of all places, surrounded by blood, psychos and guns..." The woman continues to muse before taking another gulp of her glass of milk. She, then, turns her head towards Mary and grins a lazy grin "But I'm not as dumb as ta' take ya t' a den of demons. For starters, we don't even know what in the fucking hell's goin' on."

"How's that?" Mary scowled once again, but it was not her usual pissed off frown. Anything related to demons, anything that has happened lately at appears to be odd... she was sure her fa... … that that _bastard _had something to do about it. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bother after all.

"Oh well... Haven't you noticed? Ya were attacked the other night, two..." she pondered for a brief moment, "...two days ago, isn't that right?" She didn't want to put more salt to the already seeping wound, so she went straight to the point, and quickly: "There are way too many demons for us to handle. It's been quite a while since that last happened, and personal experience says those ain't good news. Our old farts are creating quite the fuss, but it's not a consistent outbreak and it's been happenin' on random places. Quite the mystery, huh. We think we might have a vague idea of what might be causin' this, but out opinions are as viable as the crazy cat lady's weather predictions. It's been already three weeks since then. So I guessed you might know something."

Mary stopped eating for a moment to think carefully about her words, again. This wasn't a coincidence, but then, what it was? Three weeks ago... three weeks ago, she... … she had seen her home become a bath of blood she didn't want to remember, but did. Three weeks ago, her recurrent dream took place.

Ahhh, this... … … this was real alright. Tangible. Even she, when she wakes up on the morning, had to remind herself this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

If someone had told her a year ago or so that she would be believing in demons and trying to hunt them, that such a thing would happen, that it could happen... she would have laughed and called to the nearest psychiatric hospital. If she had been told something like this would happen, that this... that _he_... It was an irrational, it was stupid, it made no sense... but it was real and that was all there was to it, even if she didn't know why.

'Why' didn't matter anymore. Even if she got a rational answer, it wouldn't satisfy her as long as _he_ was still alive. She, who used to joke about demons not being more tangible than a drawing from a five-year-old kid, now can't go back to be the same. She can't do anything else than remember this as some kind of bitter irony, a sick joke. She thinks, on and on, that she surely hadn't been the only one to suffer this fate. It wouldn't end like this, though. The memory of her mother wouldn't vanish in thin air, with no one to remember her, no one to know her story.

Mary might have believed in the 'heart' of mass murder stories, that there was always a leit motiv- but this was a story with no heart at all.

Her father... he had _killed..._

Out of the blue (probably in an attempt at comic relief at seeing that usual frown on the young girl's face again, along with a very suspicious shoulder shaking that was up to no good), nameless points her index finger at her, eyes shining with excitement; "I'll go fetch ya some cleaned clothes, lazy bum. Just get ready and stop makin' such a long face, ya? Ya'll get wrinkles. Wouldn't that be a pity for such a pretty face as yours?"

"... ..."

But Mary remained impassive.

"... ..."

She merely watched the woman with dull emotion.

"...Hm."

She let out a small snort, then, looking away from the woman.

"... Your passion is quite startling." With a blank expression, not meeting the other's eyes, Mary bites a portion of her toast and chews.

"Is it~?"

"Yes, and your face, too." She added playfully, a small smile replacing the once expressionless face.

It was the hunter's time to scowl, bemused. Her smile dropped.

"What are 'cha implying about my perfect face, honey?"

The young brunette glanced up to the woman once again.

"That your white mustache takes away all your credibility."

* * *

_Her legs, soaked by sweat and dirtied with mud, simply gave up. Unable to keep on running -for how much time has she been keeping this up?-, the girl stopped, panting._

_As she tried to catch her breath, she realized that standing up was simply way too difficult. So slowly, trembling, she sat down onto the ground abruptly, not caring about bruising herself in the process. Well, she was already bruised, anyway -a few scratches here and there, some of them oozing a little bit of blood. Nothing serious. The adrenaline helped her not to notice them until now. _

_It matters not to her. Important things: she made it and her things in the bag were intact. _

_However, the adrenaline is starting to fade away once she knows she's far away from him and safe. Then it hits her that she needs to worry about other things now. mismatched eyes scan the area she's in. … … So blurry._

_She's not familiar with the views: she can see she's in some kind of suburb with short houses and flats at either side of her. Most of them are painted in white, striking enough so she could be able to see them even with the darkness of that night. Some of them look as if they had been made with very cheap materials, since they had lots of ugly cracks. In front of the houses, there were some wooden benches for people to sit on them. As she noticed this little details, she was crouching down on the road, not in the pavement, and she was thankful no cars were driving by -but that didn't mean they wouldn't drive by later. You never knew. She should stand up, but she finds no real strength to do so. _

_There were also some alleys Mary didn't know where they lead. There was barely no one walking through there, but of course that was to be expected at three a.m. In the distance, she can hear loud music._

_Mary felt very alone, and very scared. Scared and sad and upset and betrayed... And numb._

_She was cold, too. The wind was blowing furiously and she was soaked, still wearing her pajamas, which consisted in only a tee and some shots that barely reached her knees. Mary shivered, not quite able to control her body impulses anymore, as she gazed at the horizon with lifeless doll eyes._

_She shivered again and a whimper managed to escape from her throat. __It was a sad image. If there were people passing and paid her attention, they would see a small girl with disheveled, dirty hair wearing dirty clothes and looking like a wax doll. A trembling girl with red eyes and dilated pupils whose thoughts were chaotic and nonsensical, save from one, single thought._

_'What even happened?'_

_'Is this what I deserve?'_

_Goddamnit._

…

_She felt warmth, then. _

_Physical warmth. Nice and comforting, coming from below her._

_Her body tensed up, as a natural result, and she almost fell over -almost. She didn't. A hand instinctively went to touch whatever thing was warming her and she felt relieved that it was some kind of animal, a small dog or a cat -it had soaked fur and warm skin._

_Just at the same time she tensed and her hand reached for that thing, her eyes left the horizon to look down._

"_Mreow~"_

_The white kitten was curled into a ball, laying on her lap. It was looking at her with wide, blue eyes as it trembled with cold, just like she was. Mary, before locking eyes with the cat, noticed it wasn't wearing a collar. The heterochromatic eyed girl become almost hypnotized and found herself staring up at the animal with unblinking eyes, mismatched irises glassy._

_A stray cat, much like she is now._

_As she lost the strength to hold back the sobs and tears started to build up, she heaved a small, humorless laugh and petted its head. Leaving a slightly red trail down Mary's cheeks, tears didn't seem to stop spranging from her eyes._

_**Didn't Alice follow a white rabbit..?**_

_She screamed._

* * *

This feels strangely awkward.

So Mary was in a place she didn't know (yet again), surrounded by people she didn't know at all. She was tempted to fold her arms in a defensive way, but that would make her a potential target for Nameless' stupid bantering and teasing.

"Oh, 'ere, little one, don't be shy and take some steps closer~."

Said _little one_ grunted and glowered, but came in closer. She had no other choice, and besides, staying away from that woman and the crowd surrounding her would make things more awkward.

…

Speaking of awkward...

You know that kind of awkward moment when you're new in school and you don't know anyone and you don't even know how to start? Or when you're asked to do something and you have no idea what they're asking you? And still, you try to do it and make a fool out of yourself? That's how she feels right now. It's so fucking stupid it puts her in a sour mood, wanting nothing more than grab her things and leave. ...Then again, she wasn't in a fantastic mood today; neither yesterday, or the day before yesterday...

At least the place was better than what she imagined in her mind. It was a bit too small and the illumination, which consisted in an old bulb hanging from the ceiling, could use some adjustments, but all in all, it was an okay local to spend time discussing -that was what sussie sunshine told her they would do. Then, everything was okay.

The walls and floor were made of wood and behind of all those people who blocked her vision was a rectangular, black table with scattered papers everywhere. The air is heavy, but not so much to the point it would be unpleasant. It was... it was odd that they would own such a place. It was one she had never seen before, but she was not familiar with this whole city to begin with. The place that had been her home once was far away from Capulet, which was the name of her new provisional home. There was a small town where she used to go to school that could be reached by foot and was only fifteen minutes away from the mansion she lived in, but the big city that was Capulet could only be reached by highways.

Just like Lady had already admitted to herself hours before, she had lost the practice of walking with crutches. What a show... only remembering it makes the girl go mad with herself, cheeks getting red with embarrassment: the thing was that she couldn't go faster than that overly cheerful woman, so said huntress had to walk in slow-mo so Mary could get to her. fortunately, the building complex where she lived had an elevator, a few meters away from the front door of Nameless' flat, opposite the stairs, that were placed at their right. Getting to the doorway was easy. The problem came when they were out of the doorway.

It became difficult when they started to walk by the streets in search of that place that woman was talking her about. She said it was a bit far away and hidden from people's eyes, so they would be walking quite a lot. The journey was awkward and slow. That kind of 'slow' that makes you want to rip your hair in frustration, because that's another thing; Mary's slowness meant that they had a long trip ahead -long because the more conscious Mary was about being fast, the more clumsy and slower she became.

As they walked down the streets, people usually stared at them thanks to Mary's clumsy attempt at walking with crutches (along with the several bandages covering her body that made her look like she was some kind of bizarre mummy with psychomotor deficiencies). Oh, and then there was that woman's stupid teasing:

"_Haha~, even an old man walking with a walker is faster than ya! How shameful." _She had said as she laughed. She also had tried to help her, too, but Mary refused in an almighty show of stubbornness. Her ego had been already damaged enough, and she cursed herself for not being able to hit the woman in the back of her neck for making fun of her.

After passing by lots of shops, music stores, markets, small clothing stores and dirty alleys (some of them, Mary could tell, were dead ends), they finally seemed to have reached their destination, much to Mary's pleasure. Indeed, that place was very far away from their starting point.

The place had been hidden in one of those alleys. The huntress had told Mary to forget about the people who clearly didn't care much about their doings. She said something about this being the worst kept secret in the world.

And so, they started to get deeper into the narrow alley, avoiding puddles. The front door of the local had been at their right, hidden by big containers. Getting inside the hidden local had been like reaching the Nirvana for Lady and her companion as well.

"Seems like I'll hafta teach ya how to walk with crutches, too." She laughs at Mary, who glares at her in response for saying that in public. "Geez, you're making me work too much."

"Shut up."

"She has quite the sharp tongue?" A man among her crowd comments, confused at the sight of Mary. He wonders briefly how such a girl like that could put up with such a woman like the tan hunter. Young ones are enigmas.

The people among Mary were bewildered at her presence. She didn't know their names, but she made suer to remember their faces, most of them. The young girl could only catch a glimpse of one black-haired man that looked indifferent, unreadable. While he wasn't young, she couldn't quite tell what his age would be, though that was of no interest. Strands of grey hair were starting to show, and there was this stern look in his face that would have made Mary shudder if she had seen him in her happy days as an oblivious school-girl. She could tell all this because he was next to Nameless and, therefore, right in front of her.

She stared at him for a moment. He quickly sensed someone watching him and the moment he glanced up, Mary looked away. He didn't look very happy.

_Well, damn._

"Just because she said that? Nah, don't let 'er fool 'cha. That's nothing. You would be surprised of what she's able to do. _Naaasty_. In fact, right now, she's bein' nice and mellow." His brown-haired companion said in her usual oh-so-mellow voice.

He looked like he wasn't listening, but appearances are deceptive.

Mary folded her arms but said nothing. She's grown tired of arguing with her just to be ignored.

"You're not gonna present her to us?" A boy among the crowd, hands on his hips and cheeky smile on his lips looked over at her, which she found unpleasant, if the grimace on her face wasn't enough to tell. He didn't know why, though. He hadn't been overly rude. Her demure clothing didn't match her personality, he decided.

The boy was met with stony silence as Mary folded her arms and sent him an intense glare, a silent statement that he had made a huge mistake for saying that out loud and even a worse mistake for looking at her. If he had known better, he would have avoided eye contact with her and would have looked away, but even the death glare was not enough to smash his teenage bravado, not even the bandages that covered the wounds in her legs made him want to back off. Nameless was kind of expecting the young firecracker to punch him in the face, just like she did when she tried to offer her some _help_. The thought and mental image made her wince in empathic pain. Poor boy.

The same man with black hair which Mary avoided to engage eye contact with coughed, and the mere act of coughing was enough to make the laughter and talking die off. A horrible, crushing silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of their breathing, muffled snorts and hushed comments.

"Remarkably childish," the man with the perpetual angry face (everybody was sooo uptight, the brown haired huntress thought sadly) next to her scolded them. So much like a waxwork mannequin. His eyes were fixed to the wall in front of him as he spoke. Mary looks to the way he was looking but sees nothing of interest. "You ladies done kissing yet?"

The man moved to the table behind them, messy, filthy, with coffee stains and an ashtray placed on the middle. He patted it and looked at them with an expression that left not room to objections. Kind of taken aback, the group moved from their initial position towards him, who had taken a seat already.

The boy struck his tongue out at Mary and once again, her kidnapper/saviour/whatever-she-was pressed her hands on her shoulders, unbalancing the murderous teenager -she wouldn't have gone too far with the crutches, but just in case. She noticed, since she took her into her place, that she was very unstable to the point she would be deaf to anything but rash, illogical impulses. Despite the huntress' smiles and carefree talking, she found this worrying and the worst was that she couldn't ask her what caused her so much distress. Ugh, teenagers were so damn complicated... she doesn't remember to as unpredictable and intricate as she was.

At least there was no violence involved thanks to her intervention. Lifes were saved.

"So, clearly, there's something to be taken care of. I'm all ears. What have you found so far?"

With a bit of help coming from the huntress' companion, that man, Mary was able to sit around that pile of documents, papers and extinguished cigarettes that was the table they were around. She let loose a tiny smile. She hadn't done that in a long while, to sit and be around other people. The expression seemed unfamiliar to her.

Scratching her slightly pained scalp, the woman cleared her stood up and eagerly moved her lips to speak aloud. Informing was always easy and she had photographic memory. Besides, she's been well aware of that certain something he wanted to hear. That was why she's been patroling the streets for three weeks now; that's why she found Mary all alone in the verge of dying from blood-loss.

"South-west never asked assistance," she explained in her usual voice, sing-song, yet Mary could notice she was acting so tense. Why was she under so much pressure? "However, the demonic activity had never been a problem for the hunters over there, and some days ago the rule was broken."

"The aid message, wasn't it?"

"Yup. They asked us for reinforcements because the demons they had to turn into ash acted... strange."

"Define strange."

Nameless gave her two cents:

"Fifty casualties and twenty deaths in one week. Apparently, demons started to come out from underground, too many for them to fight them. Some of our men survived, while some other... …" She trailed off. After a pause, she continued. "...Whatever thing that caused that on that place, now it's way too late to stop it. Not this way, at least, and if things remain like this, we won't be able to stop the next outbreaks, either."

"That's some good news." He muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. "No idea what it is?"

"Same thing we knew last week: it's big, definitely strong and is planning some big show. We could focus on other zones in the meanwhile and localize the nests the demons are coming from. Cops aren't so bad, four eyes. We might even get something out of 'em."

The man with the beard who had asked first who she was when she was introduced not long ago, Mary noticed, gave out a sarcastic laugh, as if he didn't believe her words. Why else would have he laughed? He irrumped into the conversation out of the blue.

"You think they will know something we don't?"

She shrugged.

"They might as well leave it for experienced people, eh? They will come running to us, sure." She jabbed a thumb pointing herself, smiling charmingly even at a time like this.

Another person Mary didn't know spoke. A blonde female stretched out on the chair she was sitting on.

"And that's just so helpful." She complained. "You and your privileged mind."

"Don't use your sarcasm on me, fluffy. I have enough with this brat here, thank you very much."

In a reflex-act, she touched her hair briefly, clicking her tongue:

"Stop calling me that, damn it."

"Everybody called you that back in school. I should be allowed to do that so." A fake, startled gasp. She shook her head, looking down. Her voice was merely a whisper. "See, if you hadn't cut me off, we wouldn't be wasting our time in having this kind of conversation." she tried to hide the smile that was attempting to appear on her face.

With a roll of her eyes she gave Nameless a charming smile.

"Huh, Clair, you know you shouldn't be the one talking about my hair. That's like the pot calling the kettle black." The woman, eyeing her boredly, raised her index finger and waved it from right to left, once and again, like a mother scolding her daughter.

Clair's -that was her name?- wide smile faltered as she, hunter extraordinaire -pfft-, began to distractedly play with her ponytail as if she were upset by the scolding.

"Sorry. Umm, I, like, cannot help myself. Umm, old habits, like, die hard, y'know."

On a time like this, instead of discussing about the things that need the most attention... So much for being adults... …

Since both of them had, somehow, changed the subject, he hunters all around started to talk with each other and none of them were agreeing on anything, some complaining about these women being a pain. The teenager wondered if this was always like this.

The blond waved both her hands in a calming gesture.

"C'mon, keep talking if you're not that uselessssss." The blond raised her tone of voice and dragged the 's's sounds making her sound like a hissing snake. "That is if that charcoal you call a brain has something else of value that we should know."

"No, no, no. I'm not uselessss." Clair mocked the other's extra esses in her speech. "I figured it all out by myself, unlike you." She tipped her head to one side. "So because I'm such a good person, I'll make you a bit less clueless. Take your head out of your ass and listen well: similarity. You might had noticed the situation is the same all around town, right? Right. What do you think that means? All the incidents happen relatively close to each other, which means the demon we're looking for ain't far from here."

"Smart."

"Hey, I haven't finished yet." She frowned. "What's more, since the demons come from close places, I suppose this little pest is following a trail or something and is opening portals on certain places. Mausoleums, temples, a church... demons love their creepy places, so we should look for the next creepy place in town." she nods to herself, seemingly sure. "This is no ordinary demon. It knows we're looking for it, and you can tell its doings are extremely calculated to detail. A weak demon wanders aimlessly without a bigger demon ordering it around, so we can safely assume this is not the case: hadn't you noticed, that it can anticipate itself to our movements? Ah, we can't go around patrolling or it will shy away. And-"

"Wait."

Mary's self-proclaimed saviour was more than willing to continue even though she, as she said, had no idea as to what that thing was, but one of those men, that young man with the ponytail that was sitting next to her, spoke up. He raised his voice, and Mary was surprised to hear the grave tone it held, raspy as though he has been smoking through all his life.

"...I'm sure it's not hard to spot if it's as big as you said. How come we haven't seen it yet, causing such a stir? Where is this reasoning taking us to? There are more than one cemetery in Capulet, and abandoned factories and such."

"..."

Clair's lips curled up in distaste as she groaned, as she had been wrong, somehow.

"We're back to where we were from the start."

"I agree we should keep tabs on the lesser nuisances so we can know where they're appearing from."

"That's what I said."

The hunters started bickering with each other again. Mary chose to ignore them and thought about everything she'd been listening so far, staying in silence of dismay and bewilderment. Mary thinks she might know something about the feral demons and why they're showing up at random, and why the demon summoning them has never been seen.

"It won't take long for people to notice," added the grim man.

"Tell us something we don't know, four eyes," the woman shrugged. "What? You don't go out to take some fresh air or somethin'?"

The man's upper lip curled in distaste.

"What I meant" he started to clarify, "is that it won't take long for panic to be established if we're lazying around."

"You tell me." Mary mumbled. Her voice sounded louder than she wanted it to sound, cutting the opressive silence.

She knows, she just knows that she has more answers to this problem than any of the people around her. But they weren't detectives, and it wasn't their duty to solve this mystery. Not the 100 per-cent of it. However, in order not to drag more people into her own issues, she...-

"You were attacked."

A simple statement.

There was small silence.

Then;

"…_What_?"

"What you heard." Clair struck a pose; one hand under her chin, gazing off into the distance. "You told me that on the night when I found you, you were attacked by something you couldn't kill. Don't play dumb, I'm too young to run out of memory."

Damn. She should had remained quiet.

That was true. That woman heard this 'tale' from her today morning, so it didn't matter what Mary thought as an excuse to hide the truth. She wouldn't buy it. She pursed her lips. Her face contorted in deep thought. Not a muscle moved on her face.

The facts are plain and clear and she can't dispute them. Mary can't turn around and hide from the truth- she couldn't lie.

"Yeah..."

All eyes are watching Mary curiously, expecting an answer from her, the scowling miracle girl- and, more than ever, Mary feels like she's been driven against a wall. She sighed quietly, rubbing her hands together, suddenly feeling cold.

"... … It was blurry." She lied, for the memory was as livid as her hatred. "The demon was fast, that's what I remember the most. ...I would rather not talk much about that. It was a little horned thing." She improvised.

That mess was started by... _that man_. She wouldn't allow anyone to get into this. Help was one thing, trampling her own personal matter? No. They better stay away from this. Not only it is none of their business, but she doesn't feel like dragging unknown people into her own personal problems, they have nothing to do with them and they could get hurt, just like mom. It's unfair.

She will achieve by her own, this was something she had to do. Revenge won't bring her family back, but it will make her feel better, and she won't rest until her mother has the proper ending she deserved and justice is made, and those can only come by her hand.

"...I see." Mary's companion nodded and left her be, leaving no room for anyone to complain about the lack of response from the teenager. It wouldn't be she who gets to open that seeping wound.

* * *

...The reunion ended and a solution was not found, not even what might be causing the demons to act so funny. There was still the theory that demons were simply gathering for something much more worse, but that was as far as their imagination could go. The only thing they could was following lesser demons into their nests, but would that be enough? There wasn't even a trail to follow, and that was probably Mary's fault. She, along with the rest of the group, left their hideout in the lonely alley with the bitter taste of resignation and impotence dancing across their tongues. Even her cheery huntress was silent while she waited for her to walk towards her. She looked... well, she looked tired, like she needed a good dose of sleep.

At dusk, citizens wouldn't dare to go out -except, of course, teenagers. Teenagers aren't afraid of cold, nor about immaterial creatures when there are other more tangible deaths out there. At dusk, it was their job to patrol the streets, and each one of the people Mary met today weren't going home to sleep, and the knowledge left a bitter taste on her tongue. She sighed in what she hoped Clair would think it was a huff of tiredness.

The huntress had her hands hidden inside the wide pockets of her jacket to keep the cold at bay. Her hair was being blown by the strong wind and it danced in the air at the rhythm of a eerie melody, dishevelling it even more although she had it tied in a ponytail. It got in her face and kind of made it hard for her to see. Her face looked like a blob of hair -a mope. She looked like a mope. Mary sniggered slightly.

"What's so funny, toots?"

Mary snorted mockingly at the nickname, not even stopping her struggle with the crutches. The quiet laugh comes like a hissing sound, as though the mere act of laughing took, somehow, too much effort.

"You wouldn't catch it. Nevermind."

"Whatever makes you happy, toots." She shrugged, repeating the newfound nick name she had for her teenage terror.

She was getting a liking to the crutches. She still walked way too slow for people's liking, but at least it didn't take her minutes to reach a certain destination. Her wrists hurt, though. She supposed you couldn't have everything in life. Yes. That was for sure.

In a little less than a minute she took a position next to her companion and said one didn't lose her time at starting to make her lonely way back home. Everything in her, starting from her poise, her posture, her face, and even her voice... it reeked of disappointment and whilst the short brunette kind of expected her to feel like that, she didn't quite like how this whole thing looked at all. She had a right to feel disappointed if what they said was true. After all, didn't she say she expected her to help her? She'd been talking about that, that same morning.

If she was willing to let her cheery face drop like a fake mask, did it mean there was no positive side in all this? It's awkward and out of place: seeing her like that was a pitying image, and just a little bit heart-breaking, but... … … Ah, what did she care? There were no words engraved in deep crimson that said she compromised to trust her, and thus, being truthful. Her disenchantment shouldn't have a big impact on her, because they did not share the same mission. And she can't overread a person she doesn't know nor care about. Not really. There was nothing, nothing.

Remorse for lying? No. She even felt a bit proud that they bought her little act, if she had to be honest. There was nothing bad with that. The woman kind of saved her ass. Forgetting her rude remarks and gossiping, it was mandatory that Mary would return the favor... somehow. Hiding some tidbits of truth was a beginning for that. It's probably the kindest thing to do. They don't deserve that which she knows. For obvious reasons.

...

There was something in tonight's air that troubled Mary. It had nothing to do with the pessimist aura hovering above them like a disgusting miasma. It was as thought everything became cold, all of sudden, and she felt like the whole world tried to smash her. She frowned deeply. She cannot fix a name to it, but it constricts her chest. Her heart pounded at a very known rhythm, one she remembered from not long ago: instead of standing on a cold alley, though, she'd been sitting on the mattress of her bed, trying to decipher if the sounds she heard, that disturbed her sleep, were from the animals outside or coming from downstairs... From, maybe, a thief.

Reality is a much crueller mistress than imagination can be.

There was something definitely strange, so strange she stopped moving. Trembling whenever a rush of chilling cold air came to her. The memory of twisting corridors and fire and distorted faces matched with the full moon's dim light and the smell of upcoming rain. It was late, she could tell. She didn't look a clock with her, but she guessed midnight or later. It was a night like this, wasn't it? Memory must have agreed with cruelty today. The twisting corridors seemed like they had eyes. The concrete walls of the edifices around her seemed to have eyes, too, watching her.

Then again, why did she fee...-?

"Hey, what's the matter?"

The huntress turned around and saw Mary stopped following her, but when called, she tried her best again to keep up with her fast paced walking. It was still a sight to see. If she wasn't mistaken, the huntress has... startled her. There was no better word to describe that child's reaction.

The woman noticed that Mary looked as if in deep thought while she walked towards her with the crutches, and her eyes were looking for _something_. It was a wonder how she hasn't fallen down yet, too focused on her own thoughts. The woman wasn't sure what it was, but by the way she was eyeing everything that surrounded her by the corner of her eye, she supposed she was trying to look at something without anyone noticing it. ...Or something...

When she was called, the teenager without a name (she will have to make some research, then...) looked up to her. The girl lifted her eyes from the side walk and glanced at her static form. She was just fine, with that scowl the huntress has got used to. There were goosebumps forming in her skin, though.

"It's kind of cold." Mary said simply. This time, she stopped with that paranoid way of watching. "Is it not?"

The older was tempted to feel self-conscious and rub her arms with her hands. The brat had a point; it was _cold. _

She turned around and cleared her throat. She paid no mind to the almost freezing temperature. It would only make her feel worse. It's all on your mind, all on your mind... … she tried to convince herself.

…

Yeah, sure, cold is psychological. … She would like to meet the bastard who dared to make such claims, she thinks with an unusual scowl in her face.

However, it will be better to just hurry up and make it to her place (as quickly as Mary lets them) instead of delving into such unproductive thoughts. Who knows what kind of things can follow you at midnight?

"I've heard the temperature goes all dooown~ when demons are 'round."

The answer didn't make the girl feel at peace, but it was way too tempting for her to voice that thought. The fake mellow tone of voice didn't help, either. If anything, she was implying that there were demons around, which further fueled the bad feeling in Mary's gut. Way to go.

They proceeded to make their way home before dusk caught them. Mary tried not to look back, with forced confidence. And so, very meekly, way too meekly, she obeyed the huntress' silent request of following.

Everything was fine.

Fine.

Everything was...-

Oh.

Another lie.

* * *

This was unexpected.

There was a girl reeking so much of humanity it could sear ugly welts in his skin. Not right in front of him, but she was there. He could see her, though she couldn't see him in return. She who has tied herself into an impossible mission. She who thinks she can fulfill it.

He's mildly surprised to find her there, still standing, as he made his way to lust's domains, the ruined mausoleum that the man in black told him to go, where the seal lay dormant after two thousand years of confinement... … No, he didn't imagine himself running into her. She must be a real masochist. The humans were surprisingly stubborn when the odds were against them.

The memory of the beaten up human still lingers in his mind: when he looked at her, she shivered, she recoiled... but she did not beg. She did not whimper. She does not fear death as others would do. She glares. At him.

Even if hopeless, she still tries to find a way to overcome the deadly aroma that surrounds her like pesky flies.

Why? Why? Why?

It's useless. It's not rational. It makes Vergil scowl. Somehow- and he didn't know how- that girl had managed to survive, even though her injuries would have killed a normal human being by blood loss.

At the same time, it's slightly amusing, too. It's like... watching the pathetic efforts of a small butterfly trying to break free from a spider-web. A sad girl trying to take him down.

But Vergil knows no one can overpower him, unless he said so.

No one would.

It would have been easier to die; most humans would have done so when in this situation. Still, Mary had not given up...

He... had to admit it was worth praising. Maybe she doesn't stink so much in _that_ sense, but it's contradicting. Vergil doesn't like this conflicting nature. As he watches her every move, Vergil also feels like he hates her.

He hates the fire in her, that fire that makes her cheeks flush and the corners of her lips twitch in a half-smile even though she should be a dead doll, curling up in fear and sadness like the small, little girl she is. She should stay away. This is no playground for a little kid. He knows how this will end, he can take a guess already: determination is a lovely placebo, but a placebo, in the end. It makes human beings stronger than they really are, but it's just for a few seconds of glory. It's not true and it won't become such. It'll go away, just like that.

He hates it. He hates her determination. It reminds him way too much about someone, and he wants to distance himself from that child in red as much as he can.

Everything that remind him of his past is filthy. She disgusts him, but the fact that she sustained so many wounds and stirred such a raw feeling from him without having white hair and without wearing a red coat is...Yes, he feels sick. Vergil lets a grimace adorn his usually monotonic features. Small, barely there, but on Vergil's usual stoic face, it stood out like a shining star on a black night sky.

She's alive. Though it won't last for too long if she keeps this going. A little human who gives her back to death, a porcelain doll that can't be broken more than she already is, a clockwork toy that has already wound down. A corpse girl, barely human, she who is not aware of her demise. A girl who despite her looks and her wounds, still tries to stand up in a dignified pose as useless as it is.

He knows why she's there with that other woman and that group of humans. She wants to stop him. She hasn't given up yet, and wants to go one step ahead. This time, she wants to challenge them, both him and the cryptic man with half of his face burned. He laughs a bit, thinking about how 'revenge' will end her. He would feel pity for her, but it's easier and more comforting to laugh at her. Feeling pity would mean he cares, and he doesn't.

A dog is no match for a lion.

Do they really think they can stop him? Do they really think they will even make it? No one would overpower him unless he said so. No one could challenge him, nor defeat him. No one would. And if they do... Well, the girl with the black hair had a vague idea of what would happen.

They are wasting their time there. Even more so, they're wasting his time, and even hers as well.

His nose wrinkled, but he can't tear his eyes away from the scenery. It's strange. It's irrational. It was like staring at a car crash. Vergil doesn't like confusing thoughts. Emotions can fail you, whereas logic can't. Yet, he's drawn to look at her petite form, surrounded by good-for-nothings, feeling like hating her and praising her stubbornness at the same time.

That girl...

That girl challenged him. That girl wants to challenge him again: everything it takes to take her daddy dearest down, she will make it. It ended up being a futile the first time, but she still tried. The girl wants to achieve by herself. The girl thinks and acts as though she were not human, as if she wasn't limited by the bounds of humanity. Vergil feels fascinated and he hates it. He wishes he didn't. It's just like that time: a part of him wants to break her fingers one by one, hear her pained moans or wait until one mistake would bring her to her demise. Another part of him, however, considers that humanity is not enough for her.

Mary will die and bleed, killed by the person she'd loved the most. Her eyes will widen with pain, and her skin will turn white like snow. The other side of him is mistaken, but likes to talk very loudly.

Truth will kill little Mary in the inside. Time has proven so to him. Physical wounds can heal, but mental wounds... not so much. They remain there, even if you don't want to, forever. And she knows it as well as he does, yet she doesn't stop. He's sure this will happen: the more she thinks about her resolve, the more she will lose her mind, sooner or later.

See? Hasn't she realized? Love opens up more opportunities to hurt and be hurt. It's a pointless emotion that he believed in long ago... but now, it's nothing more than a childish memory. For now, Vergil can't afford such distractions.

_Love made father weak. _

_Love killed mother._

After the screams, the fire, the blood, the laughter, the maniacal stares and the betrayal... after the wounds, the pain, the desperation, the rage, the sight of it all and being unable to fight back, the cowardice... no, she can never go back to the same. He knows that much.

Eventually, she will see that shedding tears doesn't help anything, save giving you red eyes and migraine.

The dark slayer keeps his azure eyes on her, glowing dully.

A part of him considers she's not fitting for that world anymore. He thinks, amused, that this is really an irony.

With the birth of desperation comes the birth of hatred, and with the birth of hatred, the birth of power would come. Demons are cruel and cold and twisted because some were humans once, human souls corrupted after death... Or fallen angels; perfect beings that once preached God's blessings.

Well.

The bitter truth would squash what little innocence remains in her and derive pain from purity. It's always history repeating itself. Certainly, humanity is not enough for a twisted child. It's sad, too, that his twin can't see that, either. It was his weakness that made them like this. Because of this, Vergil must undo his mistakes. Dante wouldn't want to.

How sad, how pitiable. Mary doesn't have anything to protect anymore, and he's sure he knows how that feels like.

This puny human sure is strange, but he has a vast amount of time to spend, doesn't he? Why does she insist in being unhappy?

He thinks about how much it will take her morals to bend and break. Not much, he supposes.

One year? Will one year be enough? Or perhaps the moment when she gets to see her dearest daddy again?

He looks forward to that reunion, if she lives enough to see the end of this tale.

Once the moment comes, he might even be as gracious as to spare her the agonizing death if she gets much in his way, give her a quick, sharp tug on her neck and end her misery. He could even watch how she loses her mind before doing such a thing. Actually, he doesn't think that he will need to break the brittle bones of her neck. She will die by herself before he has to bother himself with such the waste of time that is killing her.

Her stubbornness and her conviction that humans are, in fact, capable of overcoming such a thing as _him_... He's morbidly curious.

Wouldn't that be ironic? Vergil likes irony pretty much. Wouldn't that be so fun? She, so sure of her own ideals, so much hatred running through her veins, so sure that her weak blood will be enough, only for them to be crushed under his heel like a delicate flower.

If she realizes that she had bounded herself to an impossible mission, then there would be only she and he, standing in front of each other. And he, with a knowing smirk, would tell her: _didn't I tell you? _And he would open up her eyes to the true futile nature of hope in a crumbling world built on decay and lies.

…

Today is a strange day, Vergil concludes. He's unusually thoughtful.

...

She's still a potential nuisance, though. He would not tolerate this child if she gets in his way.

…And yet, he is too surprised about having to stifle a hissing intake of breath as he watches.

Since he has nothing to do there anymore (not that he ever had a motive to stay still), he moves his eyes away from the teenager and looks at the horizon.

Asmodeus was waiting and it was time to move on.

* * *

_...You have remained long enough in this filthy world._

* * *

**A/N: **Oh yeah, miss Sunshine: Tony will piss himself once he meets Lady... and he will also get a bullet in his head, but that's just collateral damage~. It's not like it'll kill him...

Fifth chapter~. And with more interaction between Lady and Vergil~! Well... from afar, and in a stalker kind of way, but it's alright because this doesn't end here~ (hey, it's Vergil; give him -and give me- time to solve his own issues by himself).  
And hopefully, this chapter was less confusing? Well, it had less temporal jumps, but they were easy to spot, yep? Again, I would love to read your thoughts or if I can improve something. I tried to make my writing as understandable as possible, and I'm sure I 'linked' everything. You're still a tough crowd and I wanna know how I'm going~. I hope you liked this one, too~! *flees*

_**Next chapter: Temporal skip of seven months. Lady gets more experienced and her very first mission. Clair gives her a small surprise and Vergil finds something that makes him ponder about both his brother and the stubborn brat who goes without a name on several parts of the chapter (yess, VxL~). Searching the answers he needs to complete his searching of the seals, he goes to see the whimsical mad hatter, who know perhaps way too many things about him, his brother and the runaway lady. The calm before the storm. **_


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